


all that's left is the deafening silence

by snaredrum



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Incest, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Torture, Violence, diego has a relationship tag because he and vanya are the two pov characters, follows netflix canon but has some minor references to the comics, if you ship the siblings: dont read this and also dont ship siblings, these siblings may argue but at the end of the day they love each other so much, this is going to end well i promise but it is dark in the meantime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snaredrum/pseuds/snaredrum
Summary: When Vanya is fifteen, Reginald decides that she's old enough to be left home alone overnight.When Vanya is sixteen, she gets kidnapped.Her dad may not care, but her siblings sure as hell do, and they're going to get her back with or without Reginald's help.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Vanya Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 64
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! in the comics, it's canon that vanya was sometimes kidnapped and held hostage, and i wanted to explore that in the show's setting
> 
> a quick note: i am a huge elliot page fan, i have been for years, and i am incredibly happy for him that he's come out! and while fandom is ultimately irrelevant to the importance of them coming out, well, this is a fanfiction. basically what i'm getting at is, i'm genuinely conflicted about writing vanya's pronouns. it's been said so far that the show doesn't plan on changing vanya's pronouns, but they could very easily change their minds. for right now i'm going to stick with she/her because that's what vanya currently uses on the show, and characters are not their actors and if elliot is still okay playing a character who uses she/her then that's his prerogative, but if vanya ever uses he/him and/or they/them pronouns then i will absolutely be using those. i hope this makes sense.
> 
> anyway, i said this in the tags, but please be aware that this fic depicts child abuse. it will get pretty intense. please be careful.
> 
> title comes from sing along by sturgill simpson. this takes place after the kids turn sixteen but a couple months before ben dies.

Vanya had a love-hate relationship with being home alone.

On the one hand, that constant pressure of being judged was alleviated. She could never fully relax when her family were around, her father and siblings especially – she felt like any slipup or error of hers would be latched onto and scrutinized. Telling herself that they didn’t pay enough attention to her to notice didn’t help. Her anxiety told her that they were waiting for her to make some embarrassing mistake, ready at a moment’s notice to get entertainment from mocking her. With them gone, she felt like she could breathe. It didn’t matter how badly she played her violin or if she tripped while walking up the stairs – there was no one there to see it.

There was no Dad to keep her in line, either, and _god_ was that nice. Just being in the same room as Dad was terrible – it hurt to be ignored by him, but he only ever talked to her to berate her or remind her how useless she was. She couldn’t win. There was a freedom in these instances that could only come from the knowledge that he was miles and miles away from her. She could wear the pants she had traded Klaus for without the ever-present fear of being told to go change, she could sleep on the couch in the living room instead of in her dingy, claustrophobic bedroom, and if she didn’t want to eat oatmeal for breakfast, she didn’t have to.

On the other hand, being home by herself exacerbated her loneliness. It wasn’t so bad when Mom and Pogo were home with her, but ever since the kids turned fifteen and Vanya was deemed responsible enough to take care of herself they had accompanied the Umbrella Academy on more and more missions, leaving Vanya to her own devices. With everyone gone the mansion was so, so quiet. No Luther to play his records, no Allison to sing in her bedroom, no Klaus to…well, do any number of loud things, really. As emotionally and socially isolated she was from everyone else, it was nice to know that she at least wasn’t physically alone. And Mom and Pogo and sometimes Ben would talk with her. Not having the chance to have those conversations reminded her just how much she relied on them.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter how she felt about being left home alone, because she had no say in the matter anyway.

Everyone else was out on an overnight trip to the upstate for some publicity thing. Vanya was never invited to those; Dad had told her in no uncertain terms that bringing her would be more trouble than she was worth. And that was fine, really. That was fine. Why would she want to be interviewed, to be around people who cared what she had to say? Why would she want to spend the night in some fancy hotel? She wasn’t bitter at _all_.

That was sarcasm. Vanya had a hard time with sarcasm, with maintaining it – people so rarely listened to her anyway that she was terrified of what she _did_ get to say being misunderstood. And she could never quite tell when she was getting the tone right.

Mom went with them to look after the kids, because there was no way in hell Dad was going to, and Pogo went with them to – manage luggage, maybe? Vanya wasn’t sure, but then again, she’d never asked. They’d all left in the early morning, and would be back tomorrow at noon on the dot.

Which meant Vanya had over twenty-four hours to revel in the freedom being home alone gave her while beating back the accompanying loneliness.

At least it was a relatively short trip. The loneliness didn’t start to _really_ eat at her until she was alone for at least two full days; that’s when the fun would wear off and the silence would start to scare her, sending her down spirals of self-loathing and panic attacks as she wondered if they had lied and had really left permanently, if they were never coming back, if they had abandoned her.

But it was fun up until then.

Like how right now she was pacing around in circles in the living room, eating ice cream from a bowl and infodumping out loud to herself about Tchaikovsky. She had played the radio at full blast while eating dinner earlier, too – it was nice to be able to make noise and take up space. God knows she never got to when her family was around. It was weird, loud noises typically bothered her, but they could be nice as long as she was in control of them. She wore her pants but no shoes or socks, appreciating the cool smoothness of the tile flooring. It was already late evening, but she’d grab a blanket and pillow and fall asleep on the couch in a couple hours; right now, she had an imaginary audience to lecture, and they were on the edge of their seats.

She was just circling back to a detail she had forgotten to mention about Tchaikovsky’s relationship with Nadezhda von Meck when she heard the sound of shattering glass.

She froze mid-step and snapped her mouth shut so fast her teeth clicked. The sudden silence was so loud it made her ears ring as she strained to hear any follow up noise. Maybe it was nothing. It was probably nothing. Maybe a precariously placed ornament had finally given up to gravity – there was that one uneven vase that always wobbled when anyone walked past. Was it windy outside? Could a tree branch have snapped and gone through a window – 

There were voices.

Holy shit, Vanya heard voices.

Her blood ran so cold that if it weren’t for the thundering in her chest she would have thought her heart had stopped. The clink of her spoon against the bowl might as well have been a barrage of fireworks for how much the sound grated against her ears. In a stoke of brilliance that she could congratulate herself on later, she put the bowl down on the rug beneath the coffee table. No noise, nothing to draw attention to the living room.

The voices were getting closer anyway.

She still couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Okay, she just needed to think, she just needed to fucking _think_. The foyer was too open, she’d definitely get caught if she went out there, so staying in the living room it was, then. What did she have at her disposal? Ice cream? Okay, that wouldn’t help. What else?

_No self-defense training, that’s for sure. Dad never bothered to teach you. Where’s your superhero family now?_

She bit back a groan as panic flooded her chest – that wasn’t the kind of thinking she needed to be doing.

The voices were still getting closer.

_Come on, come on, what else is there for you to use?_ In front of her: her violin in its case on the coffee table. No applicable use. To her right: the fireplace. She could grab a fire poker, use it as a weapon if it came to that. To her left: the bar. Maybe she could hide behind there, yeah, okay, that was probably her best bet. She could do one or the other, but not both, and she was wasting precious seconds debating between the two.

It was better to have cover, right? Better to not be seen? But if she did get caught she would be defenseless, she really needed that fire poker –

The voices were almost in the foyer by the time she remembered there was another fireplace directly behind her. _Real quick thinking, dumbass_. She spun around and grabbed the first poker she saw before bolting across the room and diving behind the bar.

Her heart was beating so hard it was a miracle the intruders couldn’t hear it. As she crouched, she inspected the poker. It was the kind that ended in a curved hook – good. That was good. It was more dangerous that way.

The voices were definitely in the foyer now. Vanya pressed her back into the bar. She stayed as quiet as she possibly could, resisting the urge to nervously run her fingers up and down the rough metal of the poker and taking shallow breaths in through her nose. She definitely wasn’t getting enough oxygen, but it was better than them hearing her breathing. Maybe they wouldn’t come into the living room, she dared to hope. Maybe they’d find whatever they were looking for somewhere else and they wouldn’t come in here at all.

She heard two sets of footsteps enter the room. The despair had her squeezing her eyes shut for half a second before she snapped them back open – she couldn’t afford to not be able to see.

“Jesus, this shit is tacky. Guess you can’t buy taste,” the first voice said. It was a shockingly average voice; Vanya wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it was something more dramatic than this. Not deep but not high pitched, pretty smooth – he sounded more like a weatherman than a home invader.

“I don’t know, I think it’s nice,” the second voice said absently. This one was deeper and gruffer, much more like a cartoon villain than the first man. “Hey, look, isn’t that the one who disappeared?”

For some reason, that’s when it occurred to her that she should have turned out the lights. _Too fucking late for that now, genius._

Weatherman hummed. “Damn, it is. Maybe Hargreeves does have a heart after all.”

“You know, Haverford always thought that Number Five didn’t disappear at all, that really Hargreeves killed him,” Cartoon Villain said conversationally, and Vanya hated it, she hated that these people could talk about something as awful as Five’s disappearance so lightly. “Guess we’ll have to tell him he was wrong.”

“Eh, this doesn’t mean he didn’t kill him off.”

“You got me there.” Cartoon Villain laughed and Vanya’s rage almost rivaled her fear. Almost.

Their footsteps started back up again but they were slow, casual. They evidently weren’t in much of a hurry. As much as Vanya didn’t want to be found, the anticipation was killing her; each second they lingered in the living room was excruciating. Thank god she had already taken her nightly dose of her medication, or she probably would have had a heart attack by now.

“Hey,” Cartoon Villain said, his voice lower but infused with urgency, “look at this.” Vanya heard the shuffle of fabric as he crouched down and stood back up again. “There’s ice cream, it hasn’t melted.”

Fuck.

Oh _fuck_.

“What the hell?” Weatherman’s voice was as close to a shout as a whisper could get. “Haverford said the house was clear!”

“It should be! He last checked in an hour ago, there’s no way any of the Academy could have gotten back here in that time.”

“Then how do you explain _this_?!”

“Keep your voice down! I don’t know, alright? I don’t know.”

And then they went very, very quiet.

Or their voices did, at least. They walked softly, but Vanya was used to silence, and knew how to pick out footsteps.

Footsteps that were getting closer and closer to the bar.

Her palms were sweating; she tightened her grip on the fire poker. To her horror, her legs had started to fall asleep from her crouching position – she shifted herself just enough to let the blood flow and regain feeling. She was facing the wall; the footsteps were coming from her right. She went over the motion in her head: she would turn, swing, and run. Turn, swing, and run. Turn, swing, and –

A figure appeared around the bar. “Gotcha!”

She turned.

She swung.

She tried to run.

It all happened much too quickly and far too slowly. She had gotten the swing wrong for sure, she could tell that as soon as the metal made contact with Cartoon Villain’s leg. She had hit him with the rod itself rather than the sharp end of the hook like she had wanted to. It must have hurt, considering how loudly he swore and the fact that he was hopping on one foot and clutching his shin, but it didn’t incapacitate him.

But still, it created an opening, and she wasn’t going to let it go to waste. As soon as the poker hit him she was up and running, ducking around him and making a beeline for the foyer. Once she was out there she could find somewhere to hide, she knew this mansion inside and out, she knew places that Dad probably didn’t even know about –

Weatherman was in the way.

With the adrenaline carrying her, she swung the poker back, ready to put all her strength into it, angling for his head, part of her wondering when she had gotten such bloodlust but it didn’t matter because she was about to drive the hook right through his _smug fucking face_.

But when she tried to swing it forward it wouldn’t move.

She had half a second to wonder why the hell not when a hand grabbed roughly at the back of her collar. Cartoon Villain got both her blazer and her uniform shirt in his grip, and when he pulled up slightly she had to stand on her toes to avoid getting choked. He tried to wrench the poker away from her, but where he had one hand and an awkward angle, she had two hands and the desperation of someone scared out of her mind.

She had _almost_ gotten it back from him when Weatherman pulled out a gun and aimed it squarely at her heart. “Drop it.”

She let go. The metal left indentations in her palms from how hard she’d grasped it.

Cartoon Villain threw the poker away from her, across the room. It landed with a loud _clang_ on the tile and she cringed at the sound.

Weatherman took a step closer; she would have backed up if not for the man behind her. He was tall, at least six feet, with a clean-shaven face and remarkably neat hair. He looked like a weatherman, if that weatherman were jacked and waved guns around at kids. “Who the _fuck_ are you?” he demanded.

Vanya wasn’t sure she could answer even if she wanted to. Her throat had closed up and she could feel tears beginning to sting at her eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?!” He was shouting now.

Her only response was to blink furiously, trying to fight back tears. Her voice was literally the only power she had here. She might not be Allison, it might not be an actual power, but _talking_ or _not talking_ was still a choice she could make. These men wanted something from her, but that didn’t mean she had to give it to them.

She wasn’t sure that made any sense, but it was comforting in the moment. So she said nothing.

Weatherman groaned. He tore his eyes away from her face to look at Cartoon Villain. He was looking at a point quite high above her head; she felt very small. “What did Haverford say in his last report?”

“ _Gee, Clark_ ,” Cartoon Villain said in a high-pitched imitation of Weatherman’s voice, “ _I sure hope your leg is okay_.”

Weatherman rolled his eyes. “Oh come off it, the kid’s tiny, there’s no way she did any damage. Now what did Haverford say last time he checked in?”

“I don’t know, Palmer!” Clark – at least she didn’t keep having to use those dumb nicknames – sounded exasperated. “You were there too! He reported all five kids, Hargreeves, the mom, and the monkey. He sent photos and everything, you saw them same as I did. _This_ ,” he shook her and her neck ached at the sudden force of it, “is an unknown quantity.”

It felt weird to be talked about in third person like this. At the mention of her siblings the irony burned away at her again: a family full of superheroes, but here was helpless little Number Seven left to face these men all by her lonesome. It was so unfair. Everything was so unfair.

Palmer ran his hand through his hair, looking back down at her again. “I’ll tell you what. You tell me who you are” – he lowered his gun, and Vanya’s heart skipped a beat at the wild hope that he might be letting her go before realizing his finger was still on the trigger – “or I shoot you in the foot. Five seconds.” He began counting down.

Vanya tried to hold out, she really tried, but she felt sick and dizzy and her collar was digging into her throat and she had never been this scared before in her life. She didn’t want to get shot.

She broke when he got to two. Would her siblings be disappointed in her for giving up this easily, or did they expect this weakness from her? “Vanya.” Her voice was high and strained and thick with tears; she cleared it and tried again, in case he was dissatisfied and decided to shoot her for it. “My name is Vanya Hargreeves.”

Palmer smiled, a patronizing little smirk with no warmth whatsoever. “So, she speaks. Now was that so hard?”

“Hargreeves?” Clark rumbled behind her. He shifted his grasp on her collar to his right hand and used his now free hand to grab at her left wrist, pushing down her blazer sleeve as he did so. She hissed at the tightness of his grip and the harsh way he jerked her arm around. “No tattoo. Odd.”

Palmer’s brow furrowed. “Hm. Vanya, care to explain who you are?” His voice was casual, like he was asking her an icebreaker question, but his gun stayed trained on her foot.

Fear made her mouth go dry, but she reflexively swallowed before speaking anyway. “I’m Number Seven.” There were better ways to explain who she was, she was sure of it, but her brain was too scrambled to formulate them. She prayed that this would be enough of an answer for them.

Palmer’s eyes widened, a genuinely delighted smile growing across his face that made Vanya’s stomach flip. “Well goddamn. Did you know she even existed, Clark? Because I certainly didn’t.”

She could feel Clark’s body shift behind her as he shook his head. “I had no idea. Why’d they leave you here?” He shook her again and the movement made her nauseous.

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t think of what to say. If she told them she didn’t have powers, would they just kill her on the spot? That was what you did with a useless witness, right? But if she lied and told them she did have powers then they would want proof, proof that she obviously couldn’t give. There was no good option, she was stuck.

Palmer sighed and pointedly tightened his grip on the gun. “Why did they leave you here, Vanya? A kid your age shouldn’t be left home alone,” he added in a faux-concerned tone.

Vanya’s hands felt numb. She wanted to run them against the fabric of her uniform or mess with her hair or drum her fingers against her sides like she normally did when she was nervous or scared but she was worried any sudden movement of hers would be taken as an escape attempt and they would shoot her. She still couldn’t figure out what to say, and god, fuck, they were getting impatient. “I…” Her voice broke. She tried again. “I’m not part of the Academy.”

He rolled his eyes, irritation plain on his features. “Yeah, I figured. But our question is _why_. Come on, we don’t have all night.”

She drew in a deep breath, trying not to sob. She never had a choice, did she? “I don’t have powers. I’m ordinary.”

Clark started laughing behind her, and her face burned despite herself. The laughter came from deep in his chest and was distressingly jovial. “Oh, that’s perfect. Hargreeves’ tiny, powerless daughter who couldn’t even take me out with surprise _and_ a fire poker on her side? I couldn’t have dreamed up a better hostage. So what, are you his biological kid or…?”

Palmer snorted.

She hated this, she hated this, she hated this. She fucking hated this and she hated these men and she hated being talked about like this and she hated being asked these questions. She tried to sound braver than she felt when she answered, “No, I was adopted like the others. Born like the others. I just don’t have powers. I don’t know why.”

Palmer pursed his lips and shrugged. “Whatever. Far be it from me to question the nature of you freaks.” He rolled his shoulders, all nonchalant, like he wasn’t _taking her hostage_. “I’m going to be level with you, Number Seven,” he said, and she bristled at the use of her number. “We’ve been planning this for a long while. Our associate has been keeping tabs on the movement of your family so we wouldn’t be interrupted. He also managed to take out the mansion’s security system, but it’ll come back online in…” he checked his watch and wrinkled his nose. “Well, soon. We _originally_ intended to steal some irreplaceable scientific equipment, some important research documents, a few priceless valuables, things we could either sell back to Hargreeves or, if he wasn’t cooperative, to the highest bidder. What we didn’t count on, though, was finding _you_. And I imagine we can get more for you than for everything else combined. Good thing, too, because we’ve eaten up most of our time having this little conversation.”

And then he turned and walked out of the room. Clark followed him, dragging her along by her collar.

So that was it then. She stumbled over her feet trying to match Clark’s pace as he pushed her forward by her neck. Her thoughts whited out from the surreality of it all; she was so afraid that her brain looped back around to a weird sort of calm.

And she found her mind wandering to Five. If Five were in this situation, there was no way he would just accept it, and he wouldn’t want her to either. What would Five do? Teleport, obviously, but she couldn’t do that. Okay, but what if he was tired and couldn’t teleport? What would he do then? He would probably…

As caught up in her own head as she was, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going. But now she recognized the hallway, it was one leading to the far side of the west wing, it was probably where they had broken the window that let them in.

And it was one that she knew contained an entrance to one of the mansion’s several hidden passageways. They had already passed by the door. It was only about ten feet behind them; the passageways were cramped and small and mazelike, if she could get in there she had a decent chance of hiding.

What would Five do?

He would break out of Clark’s grip and leave the bastards behind.

She moved immediately – she didn’t have time to not be impulsive. Ducking down to catch Clark off guard, she spun around and raised her arm, dropping it down on his to break his hold on her collar. It worked, somehow it _actually worked_ , and she took off as fast as she could for the door. Eight feet, five feet, she was almost there, she was reaching out her hand when Clark grabbed her other wrist and pulled her to a sharp halt.

Her shoulder was almost wrenched out of its socket from the force of it. She barely had time to register what had happened before he backhanded her so hard that she tripped over her ankle and slammed her head into the wall on the way down. White spots erupted over her entire field of vision half a second before the pain hit. She may have whimpered, but she wasn’t sure – she couldn’t hear it past the blood rushing in her ears.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Clark’s voice sounded like it was underwater.

She blinked, trying to clear her swimming vision enough to get her first good look at Clark. He was as tall as Palmer but brawnier, with a couple days’ worth of stubble on his face. _He looks like a lumberjack_ , she thought hysterically.

From somewhere down the hall, Palmer groaned. “Just pick her up, we have to get out of here.”

Clark sighed and muttered something bitter under his breath, but bent down to pick her up anyway. Vanya didn’t resist. The fight had bled out of her; she was an idiot for thinking she could ever outrun them. Her burning cheek and aching head were a testament to that.

The world spun as he lifted her off the ground and she squeezed her eyes shut to stave off the nausea. She was so out of it that she was hardly aware of being carried down the hallway and lifted out the window until she felt Clark stop moving. She opened her eyes to see that she had been taken out into one of the alleys that bracketed the mansion, the one with the dumpster in it, and Clark was holding her behind a nondescript sedan. It was parked, the lights were off, but Palmer was opening the trunk –

Oh.

Despite herself, she made a choked noise from the back of her throat.

She could feel the rumble in his chest as Clark groaned. “Jesus, kid, what’s the matter now?”

She wasn’t sure if he actually wanted an answer. If he didn’t, and she did answer, he would think she was an idiot; but then again, if he _did_ , and she _didn’t_ , then he would probably hurt her. Better safe than sorry, right?

“I…I don’t like small spaces.”

Palmer snorted, pulling a roll of duct tape out of the trunk. “I cannot stress enough how little I care.”

Clark set her down but kept a firm grip on her upper arm. She still felt dizzy from the pain and the fear and she stumbled a bit even as Palmer pulled her wrists behind her back and began to tape them together. When he was done, Clark turned her around so Palmer could slap a strip of tape over her mouth as well.

This all felt so unreal. It felt like watching a movie in first person, like everything was happening _at_ her but not _to_ her, because she was Vanya, she was little Number Seven, she just stayed in the mansion and out of the way and nothing ever happened. _You wanted to be unique, right? Well none of your siblings have ever been pathetic enough to get kidnapped, so congratulations._

Palmer jerked his head toward the trunk. “Get in or I’ll throw you in.”

It wasn’t like she had a choice, right? She got in. It was awkward without the use of her hands.

She wasn’t done laying down yet when they slammed the trunk shut, nearly smacking her in the head. She recoiled violently and fell on her back, pinning her arms awkwardly beneath her. Her wrists and shoulders protested at the position; by using her legs, she was just able to turn onto her right side. She breathed heavily through her nose.

It was dark. Oh god, it was so fucking dark. It was small and it was dark and she couldn’t move she couldn’t talk she couldn’t scream and now the car was driving away –

The pane of glass she had been watching the world through shattered, the movie ended, and all of a sudden everything was very real. This was really happening. She was tied up in the trunk of a car, being taken to god knows where by men who had no reservations about hurting her, to be used as leverage against a family that probably wouldn’t even notice she was missing in the first place. Her face hurt, her head hurt; she wanted to give in to the pressure building in her throat and the tears burning behind her eyes but she was afraid if she started crying her nose would get stuffed up and she wouldn’t be able to breathe. So she just kept taking deep, measured breaths through her nose, feeling the oxygen flowing through her body.

She had no idea where they were taking her. Or even how far away they were taking her. It was pointless to dwell on that; dangerous, even, considering that the only thing keeping her from having a full-blown panic attack was her fear of suffocation. It was already hard to breathe in such a small space. God, couldn’t they at least have put her in the back seat?

Again, pointless to dwell on. _Don’t think about it. Think about anything else._

She shifted her position again so her right arm wouldn’t fall asleep beneath her and closed her eyes; that way she could pretend that the darkness around her was a choice. _Think about anything else. Think about anything else._

_In 1840, Pyotr Ilych Tchaikovsky was born in Votkinsk…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile back at the ranch

Diego didn’t understand why they had to waste time doing publicity shit when they could be, you know, _out saving the world_. It was always boring as hell. Allison and Klaus were the only ones who ever actually liked doing it anyway – Klaus had this stupid game he liked to play with himself where he tried to see how much batshit stuff he could say before the interviewer’s professionally calm veneer broke, and Allison took to interviews and photoshoots like a duck to water. She shone under the attention, always charming and casual, a natural-born media darling. Even now, on the car ride back, Allison was still bathed in the afterglow. Diego rolled his eyes. She would probably do pretend interviews in her room when they got home.

Luther would say he liked interviews, but it was _so_ obvious he didn’t. As Number One he took it upon himself to be the Umbrella Academy’s spokesperson, but he didn’t have Allison’s easy confidence. It just ended up stressing him out. Diego could see the slight slump of Luther’s shoulders as he sat in the car; he probably wasn’t even aware he was exhausted. Ben on the other hand was far more open about his anxiety. He hated the attention, never speaking unless spoken to and visibly cringing whenever he was asked about the Horror.

As for Diego, he thought it was stupid. The first few they did back when they initially started going on missions were kind of fun, but the novelty wore off fast. You do one interview, you’ve done a million interviews. (Same with photoshoots – he felt like an idiot being posed in dumb positions by unknown adults.) He would typically just cross his arms and try to look as closed off as possible, hoping the interviewer would get the hint and direct their questions toward Allison or Klaus or Luther instead.

The hotels were a pain in the ass, too. It wasn’t like they actually got to do anything when they were out, and he always had to share a room with Luther which sucked because it was _Luther_ and if he even thought that Diego didn’t want to be there he would go on one of his lectures about ‘the good of the Academy.’ Also, Luther snored like a freight train.

_At least it’s over_ , Diego thought as they pulled up to the mansion. And at least Mom had gone with them this time; it was always better when she got to go. She would do things like take them all down to the continental breakfast in the morning and sometimes even to the pool. And while everyone else might have thought she was just a robot, Diego could see the awe in her eyes when she looked around at her new surroundings. It made him happy; it was good for her to see more than just the mansion.

Diego unbuckled his seatbelt, but Dad spoke up before he could open the door. He was in the front seat but didn’t bother turning around to face them. _Typical_. “As this enterprise has already cut so deeply into my valuable time, Pogo has convinced me to cancel training for today. This is a matter of my work schedule, not a gift, and I expect you to be prepared for more rigorous training in the coming days to make up for this lost time. Am I understood?”

Only after their chorus of _Yes sir_ did he nod and open the door.

The siblings didn’t say anything, but Diego could feel the excited energy that ran through them all. They traded looks as they exited the car, all wide eyes and barely-contained smiles. The threat of more intense training later paled in comparison to the promise of free time _now_. They hadn’t had this much recreation time all at once since – well, ever. It sure as hell beat their usual weekly half hour.

Dad, Mom, and Pogo vanished to different corners of the house as soon as they walked through the door. Diego was about to dart up to the attic and grab the comics he had stashed there when he heard Ben’s quiet, nervous voice ask, “Where’s Vanya?”

And really, that wasn’t what gave Diego pause. In fact, it wasn’t the question at all that got him to linger at the base of the stairs, looking around the foyer. It was what came after, or rather, what didn’t.

Because nine times out of ten, whenever anybody asked that question Vanya would speak up and everyone would collectively realize that she’d been right there the whole time, a little off to the side. It wasn’t like she was trying to hide in plain sight, but it wasn’t their faults either for not noticing. She was quiet and tiny and far too good at blending into the woodwork. Diego had joked once that she needed a bell, but she’d never had a sense of humor; she just ended up getting offended.

But that didn’t happen this time. By the time Diego made it to the stairs, no one had said anything. And listen, usually he didn’t give a shit about what Vanya was up to, but she was _always_ waiting for them when they got home from doing Academy business. Always.

So this was kind of weird.

Over by the central table, Klaus reached his arms up above his head and leaned slightly to the side in a casual stretch. “She’s probably in her room. I know _I_ would sleep in if I got the chance.”

That seemed reasonable enough to Diego, but Ben shook his head. “I don’t think she would, she has trouble sleeping.”

Did she? Diego didn’t know that. Klaus unclasped his hands but still held them up high, palms out, in a celebratory gesture. “All the more reason to sleep in!”

Ben didn’t look convinced, so Klaus sauntered over to him and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Okay look, I’m headed to my room to take a nap anyway. I’ll check her room. I don’t wanna wake her up, so if I’m not back in” – he looked down at his wrist, even though he wasn’t wearing a watch – “five minutes, then that means I popped in, saw she was good, and fell asleep my own self. Deal?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Klaus nodded once and ran up the stairs. Diego was about to follow suit when Luther said, “It _is_ weird that she’s not here, though.”

He bit back a groan. He just wanted to be able to go get his comics without being interrupted every five seconds. “Oh my god, she’s probably just in her room! She doesn’t have to wait by the door for us like a puppy every time we step outside.”

Luther got that look on his face, that little condescending _I’m the leader_ expression. “No, she doesn’t, but she usually does. So isn’t weird that she isn’t?” It pissed Diego off even more that he’d basically had the exact same thought a minute ago.

“Yeah, I’m with Luther on this one,” Ben said. “What if she’s sick or something?”

“Then Mom’ll take care of her. Look, if Vanya wants to be independent for the first time in her life, then good for her. But if you’re really that worried then I’m sure _Number One_ will be able to find her. I am going to go enjoy the rest of my free day, thank you very much.” And with that, Diego turned to finally head up the stairs.

Only to hear Allison call from the living room, “Hey guys? I think you should all come look at this.”

Now Diego did groan. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ He hadn’t even noticed Allison going into the living room in the first place. But she sounded worried in a way she rarely did, and that was enough to make him reluctantly, oh so reluctantly, give up the stairs and go follow Ben and Luther into the room.

Allison was standing over by the bookshelf on the wall closer to the foyer, looking down. “I came in here to get a book, but…” Diego followed her gaze and saw a fire poker by her feet. A fire poker that belonged on the other side of the room.

He furrowed his brow. “What the hell?”

“Oh, so _now_ you think it’s weird,” Luther muttered.

“Yes, Luther!” Diego snapped. “I think Vanya’s new hobby of chucking fire pokers across the room is much weirder than her not waiting for us with bated breath by the front door. Sue me.”

“Guys, shut up,” Allison interrupted. She pointed toward the center of the room. “ _That’s_ what’s really weird.” There, sitting neatly in its case on the coffee table, was Vanya’s violin. The sight of it made Diego’s stomach drop a little bit. The other stuff was weird, sure, but this was downright eerie. The only time Vanya ever let that thing out of her sight is when it was safely tucked away in her room. She would never leave it unattended in the living room like this, especially with the case still open.

Ben ran over to the table, anxiety etched deep into his face. He bent down and picked something up off the floor – a bowl with a spoon in it. “There’s this, too.”

Luther stepped forward. “What is it?”

Ben carefully sniffed at it, then dipped the tip of his pinky in and licked it. “Melted ice cream.”

“Oh my god, don’t just lick it!” Allison sounded incredulous. “What if it’s poisoned?”

Diego rolled his eyes. “Why would it be poisoned?”

“I don’t know! Why is her violin in the living room? Why is there a fire poker on the floor? Why wasn’t Vanya waiting for us? Clearly something weird is going on. Why not poisoned ice cream?”

“I feel fine,” Ben offered.

Luther squared his shoulders. “Okay, let’s think this through calmly. Yes, it’s odd, but there could be a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

Just then they heard the thump of someone running down the stairs, and, judging by the sound, jumping the last few. Klaus appeared in the doorway, flustered and almost out of breath. “Okay, so, funny story,” he said between pants. “Vanya’s not in her room.”

“What?!” all four of them chorused.

“Her bed’s all made, but she wasn’t in there! Neither was her violin…” He trailed off as Ben pointed to the table. “Oh shit.”

A cold feeling traced its way down Diego’s back. This wasn’t just weird anymore – something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and by looking around, Diego knew his siblings were thinking the same thing.

The color had drained out of Luther’s face, but he shook his head and put on a determined expression. “I’m going to go get Dad,” he said, and ran out of the room.

*

Within a couple hours, all five kids, along with Mom and Pogo, had searched every inch of the mansion. Even the secret passageways, even the training areas, Pogo even searched the basement. Every time Diego turned a corner he thought he was going to come across her lying injured and immobile on the floor. Ben had said earlier she might be sick, but it made a horrible sense to Diego for her to be hurt and unable to move. He kept his ears strained for any noise even though he knew that Vanya, the little weirdo, probably wouldn’t call out for help anyway. She’d once twisted her ankle on the stairs and didn’t say a single word about it until Mom’s first aid programming took note of her limping. (But then again, Diego had a similarly hard time admitting injuries; just another side effect of growing up under the dubious care of Reginald Hargreeves.) He just wanted to find her so he could take her to the infirmary; he would absolutely be telling her off for worrying everyone but at least he would know she was okay.

But he didn’t find her. And neither did anybody else.

Vanya had vanished, and the only clue they found was the shattered window Allison had come across in the west wing, one of the ones facing the alley. The glass had broken inward, and that finally confirmed the gnawing fear that had been eating away at them all: someone had broken in. In all likelihood, Vanya had been abducted. Mom rushed to check the security tapes, but there was an hour-long gap in the previous night’s footage.

Predictably, Dad hadn’t helped them search. He had barely reacted at all beyond directing Mom and Pogo to assist them. He just stayed in his office, scribbling away at his stupid notebook.

Diego, his siblings, and Mom all gathered around the door of Dad’s office to tell him what happened. Ben was on the verge of hyperventilating, Klaus kept biting at his already bitten-down nails, Allison was doing that nervous tic of hers where she tapped her thumb to the tip of all her fingers on that same hand, one by one. Diego longed for a knife to flip, something to keep his hands busy, but he didn’t have any on him. He settled for pulling at his sleeves instead.

Mom was handling it really badly. She looked distinctly worried, and her wide eyes and frowning mouth looked unnatural on her ever-pleasant face. It must be weird, Diego thought, for her programming to comprehend that her child who never went on missions was the one currently in danger.

Dad put down his pen and folded his hands together on his desk, looking at them like they were nothing more than whiny kids eating up his time. “Well?”

Luther’s face still hadn’t regained color, but his voice was firm as he said, “We were unable to locate Vanya, sir. We have reason to believe she was kidnapped.”

And what did Sir Reginald Hargreeves do upon hearing that his daughter had been abducted? Upon seeing his distraught children and their frantic mother?

He sniffed and said, “I cannot imagine why anyone would find Number Seven valuable enough to steal.”

_That fucking bastard._ For a second, Diego swore he saw red. He wanted to scream, he wanted to yell at his father, but he didn’t even know how to begin to articulate how angry he was.

Allison beat him to it. Her voice was one of cold fury when she said, “Well obviously they _did_ , because they _have_. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Do not take that tone with me, Number Three,” he warned.

Mom put her hands on Allison’s shoulders. “Sir, please. The children are just worried about their sister.”

He glared at her, but after a beat he replied, “As for now, I plan to do nothing.”

“What?” Ben gasped. Diego clenched his jaw so hard he was worried his teeth would break.

“I hardly see what I can be expected to do given the veritable dearth of information I have regarding the situation. I presume you encountered no ransom note, unless you were irresponsible enough to find one and not immediately produce it to me. Were you?” He paused and looked at them expectantly. A couple seconds went by before they realized the question wasn’t rhetorical.

Luther cleared his throat. “No, sir. We didn’t find a ransom note.”

“Then how do you expect me to locate Number Seven? Until her alleged kidnappers contact me, there is simply nothing to be done. Now excuse yourselves from my office, and do not bother me again.”

“But Dad –“

Dad’s icy eyes met Diego’s. “Do _not_ make me repeat myself, Number Two.”

Mom took that as her cue to gather her children and usher them out the door. “Come everyone, let’s leave your father to his work.” Diego’s body felt stiff with anger. He knew Dad didn’t like any of them, but this was a new low. He had shown more emotion when Five went missing, and Five had left of his own volition, he hadn’t been _kidnapped_. Was it because it was Vanya? Diego felt like Dad would lose his shit if any of his precious soldiers had been kidnapped, but he had never really cared about Vanya one way or the other. But Diego had never thought Dad had found her so…disposable. He realized his nails were digging into his palms with how hard he was clenching his fists and he shook them out.

Mom had gotten the group halfway out the door when Pogo rushed in, leaning heavily on his cane. He had been using his cane more and more these days. “Sir,” he said, looking at Dad, “there’s an urgent message waiting for you in the media room.” Diego’s heartrate picked up.

Dad made a noise of irritation. “Can it wait?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“Very well.” Dad stood up and marched past them out the door, leaving the crowd of anxious teenagers in his wake.

“If it’s not too much to pry, Pogo,” Mom began, her voice sweet as ever but with an underlying note of steel, “what is the nature of the message?”

“It’s a video call.” He looked away, then back at her, his expression and posture emanating exhaustion. “A two-way, live video call.”

They didn’t need to ask; this couldn’t be about anything but Vanya. “Pogo, please, you have to let us in there,” Diego demanded, but it came out more like a plea.

Pogo tapped his palm against the head of his cane nervously, his expression pained. “I’m not sure that it would be…” he trailed off, his eyes darting briefly to Mom before landing on Diego again. “Appropriate, for you children.”

Which was total bullshit, Diego thought, because Vanya was a child too. And besides, they were goddamn superheroes, it didn’t matter how old they were, they could handle anything –

“Please,” a quiet voice broke through the tension in the room, and everyone turned to look at Klaus. This was the first time he had spoken since they entered the office. His eyes were wide, his shoulders tense, and he had stopped biting at his nails but Diego could see a small amount of blood welling up from his torn cuticles. He was very rarely quiet, and never said please. “Please, Pogo. We have to know.”

Something shifted in Pogo’s eyes, and after a second, two seconds, three seconds, he nodded. “Very well. Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, please let me know what you think! updates will probably be a little slower after this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where it begins to get dark. mind the tags and please be careful.

At least the tape was gone from her mouth. It had hurt when they pulled it off, but still, it was a definite pro.

The cons would be…everything else. Vanya was sitting in an oddly high-backed (or maybe she was just short) metal chair in some windowless, medium-sized room with concrete walls and floor. It would have been dark if not for the efforts of a single hanging lamp above her head and one standing lamp tucked away in a corner. The room was cold, made colder by the fact that they had taken her blazer for some reason, leaving her in her short-sleeved button-up. At least she still had the sweater vest. Her wrists were taped down to the armrests of the chair, and the chair itself seemed to be bolted to the floor somehow; it wouldn’t budge no matter how much she tried to throw her bodyweight or pushed her bare feet against the floor. There was no one else in the room beside her.

She had no idea where the room was – she didn’t even know what the rest of the building looked like. Palmer and Clark had put a bag over her head as soon as they opened the trunk and hauled her to her feet. Even with Clark’s hand on her shoulder guiding her, walking blind had been unexpectedly stressful, and – much to his irritation – she had tripped more than once. When Clark had jerked her to a stop and Palmer told her to sit, she was terrified she was going to just keep falling. It made her think about something Five had once told her about his jumps: it was always scary to jump into an area he couldn’t see because he had no idea what to expect. She had felt like that then.

But Palmer hadn’t been lying – there was a chair beneath her. They pulled her forward, cut the tape off her wrists, re-taped them to the chair. Then they had pulled the bag off her head, ripped the tape off her mouth, and left her there.

That had been a while ago. A couple hours, maybe? Vanya wasn’t good at measuring time, especially in a place like this with no clocks or windows. Sitting here staring at the blank wall was making her feel deeply uncomfortable – no, more than that, unsettled. Her claustrophobia was being exacerbated by her inability to use her hands. There was some hair in her face, and she tried desperately to blow it out of the way. It didn’t work very well.

The situation was insidiously boring. Something bad was going to happen, she knew it, and the anticipation was killing her, but on some level she was desperate for _something_ to break this horrible monotony. Her right cheek and the side of her head throbbed dully. She tried to keep herself occupied; she had already gone through all her Tchaikovsky facts twice and she was too anxious to think up a new topic, so she just started counting, wanting to see how high she would go.

She got up to somewhere around three thousand by the time she heard the door open again behind her. She realized she had been slouching down as far as her restraints would allow, but she shot back up as Palmer and Clark entered the room. Clark rolled in a table carrying a monitor and a camera and placed it in front of her, making sure both were facing her direction. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands began to feel numb.

Palmer smiled at her. She felt sick. “Are you ready for the show? Make sure to give a good performance out there, alright?” Vanya began to shake, hunched slightly forward involuntarily, the cold and fear overwhelming her.

The men pulled on plain ski masks and began to turn on their recording equipment. She found herself staring at the blinking red light of the camera.

Until the monitor flashed to life, displaying the stern image of her father, with her siblings huddled nervously in the background. She was surprised by how much her heart ached at the sight of them. Mom and Pogo were there too, the former looking far more distressed than Vanya had ever seen her, and the latter looking deeply, deeply sad. There was no concern in her father’s eyes, only impatience. She started to shake harder.

“Sir Reginald Hargreeves,” Palmer began smoothly, stepping into frame on Vanya’s left. “I’m going to cut to the chase. We have Vanya here, and it would just break my heart if anything were to happen to her. I’m sure you feel the same way – I know she certainly does. I would love to be able to return her to you, but my colleagues and I will need compensation for our efforts. Thirty million dollars sounds about fair, don’t you think?”

Clark had moved behind her and Vanya heard a small clicking noise before the sound of him exhaling. He had lit up a cigarette, she could smell it. Almost subconsciously, she blew small puffs of air out of her nose in an attempt to keep the smoke away. Klaus and Allison both smoked sometimes, but Vanya couldn’t stand the scent. “That sounds about right to me,” he replied amicably.

Vanya stared at the grainy image of her father’s face with wide eyes, trying to communicate with him as best she could that she _needed_ him to get her out of here. Logically she knew she should be looking into the camera lens to create the full effect, but she could barely stand to blink for fear of missing something, much less tear her gaze away from him entirely. She held her breath.

“You vastly overestimate Number Seven’s worth.” Dad’s tinny voice was sharp and short, like he was frustrated at having to state something so obvious. Something sick roiled around in Vanya’s stomach and she swallowed back the sudden nausea. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, in fact she heard it most every day, but to hear it now? Right now? When so much was at stake? She knew he hated her, knew he resented on some level having to take care of her, but didn’t he still- Wasn’t she- Wouldn’t he-?

No. Her heart sank deep, deep, until it felt like it was embedded in the concrete floor. He really didn’t care, and she was a fool for thinking he ever would.

If Palmer had been caught off guard, he recovered remarkably quickly. “You vastly underestimate the gravity of the situation,” he said in his stupid calm weatherman voice before turning and punching her square in the face.

Pain exploded in her cheek and her nose, and she let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. The force of it slammed the back of her head into the chair back and the dull _thunk_ sickened her. She felt (or maybe heard?) a click deep in her nose when his fist made contact – she didn’t think it was broken, but it was definitely bleeding. Oh, god, it was bleeding a lot actually. She instinctively moved to raise her hands to wipe the blood away and protect her face from further harm, but the tape stopped her, so she had to settle for spitting the blood away from her lips. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the muffled sounds of her siblings shouting in horror.

Yeah. She was feeling that horror too. Her legs were now shaking uncontrollably, and her eyes darted back and forth madly between Palmer and her father, trying to stay aware of both of their actions for any indication of what either one might do next. The bruises on the other side of her face were renewed with pain, too, and ached with a vengeance. Blood kept getting into her mouth, and she kept spitting it out. She could feel it dripping down to soak her collar.

Palmer looked back at the monitor expectantly.

Dad probably would have scoffed if he didn’t find it undignified. “Was that supposed to change my mind?”

Behind her, Clark growled. “No, but this is,” he said, and Vanya didn’t have enough time to fear what _this_ was when he put his lit cigarette out on her left forearm.

She _screamed_. She tried desperately to pull her arm away, to get away from the source of pain, but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t _move_ , and he was still holding it in place and the pain was radiating up her arm and he was still holding it in place and she felt like her skin was melting and maybe it actually was and he was _still_ holding it in place. She kicked her legs out in a useless escape attempt. One of her siblings might have called something out, but the voice was tinny and tiny and drowned out by the sounds of her own frantic pleas for him to just _stop_.

It took her a second to notice that he had finally pulled the cigarette away. For the first few moments the pain didn’t abate at all – it may as well have still been pressed to her with how much it hurt. But sure enough, though her vision was blurred with tears that she was unable to wipe away she could see the deceptively small, perfectly round red mark in her arm. The surrounding skin was dusted with grey ashes. Her screams had died down to pained gasps, but the sight of the raw shiny skin scared her so badly that she couldn’t hold back a sob. Blood had dripped into her mouth as she had screamed and she could taste it on her tongue and teeth and lips. She was so fucking scared.

The pain – well, it wasn’t lessening, but it was changing, becoming not as urgent but angrier. The center of the burn was almost numb, but the area around it felt like it was on fire. She breathed raggedly, the air coming in gasps, and looked up at Clark. But he wasn’t looking at her, he didn’t care, he just flicked the extinguished butt across the room and crossed his arms at the monitor.

She snapped her head toward the screen when she heard Dad begin to speak. “You have yet again failed in swaying my mind.”

Vanya really didn’t mean to, but she whimpered. “Dad, please.” Her voice was a soft, shaky whine.

“Quiet, Number Seven,” he snapped. Like she was being insubordinate for wanting to not be _tortured_ anymore. She flinched back despite herself. “Now,” he addressed Palmer and Clark, “Number Seven is of no monetary, practical, or sentimental value to me. However, on principle, I cannot abide the theft of one of my possessions. You _will_ return her to me, and you will be lucky if I give you enough money to cover the cost of gasoline. This is not a negotiation.” He moved his hand, and the transmission cut off.

Vanya could see her own bloody, terrified face reflected in the monitor’s black glass.

The sudden eerie silence was shattered by Palmer’s shout of outrage. Vanya flinched as far away from him as her restraints allowed, clenching her jaw shut but keeping her eyes open wide and fixed on him.

It didn’t help. He punched her in the face again, this time around her eye socket, and she cried out. “What the hell was that?” Palmer demanded, as if she had any idea, as if she had _wanted_ it to go that way. Five probably would have spoken back to him, but if all this had proven anything, it was that Vanya wasn’t Five.

And that she really was worthless to her father. She knew she was useless, she knew that, but god…he really didn’t care if she lived or died, he wasn’t going to do anything to help her, and that hurt. That hurt _so bad_.

It was painful to cry with her injured nose, but she couldn’t stop herself. Sobs wracked through her and the blood and tears mixed on her face. Palmer might have said something else, but she wasn’t sure – her world had shrunk down to just her and this chair and her fear and her pain. Her face hurt, her head hurt, her wrists hurt from how much she had pulled against the tape, and every injury was exacerbated with each heartbeat. And the burn was excruciating, the pain was radiating up her entire arm and it was red and angry and already forming a blister. _I’m going to die here,_ she thought. _I’m going to die here and nobody will care and Dad probably won’t even bother to get my body back for the funeral. I’m going to die here and nobody will have even known that I existed. My siblings are superheroes but I’m gonna die alone in some cell._

A sharp sound brought her back to reality – Palmer was snapping his fingers an inch away from her face. “Hey, Seven, fucking listen to me.” He and Clark were both standing before her with their ski masks off, their expressions dark. “I asked you a question.”

Had he? Yeah, wait, he had, he definitely had, it was only a couple seconds ago so why couldn’t she remember it? This was too much, everything was too much, she felt like she was losing her mind.

She must have looked lost, because he shook his head and said, “God, you’re useless. I asked you what the hell that was all about.”

Oh. Okay, she remembered that now, it was right before he hit her but – was he really going to make her answer? Her chest felt tight, her lungs too small, and her face burned at the humiliation. Wasn’t it obvious what had happened? What was there for her to even say?

But he was still waiting for an answer. She took a shaky breath. “I told you, I don’t have powers.” Palmer smacked the side of her head, boxing her ear, and she whined. “I’m serious! I’m just normal, so I’m not…I don’t know, I’m not a priority, okay?”

Vanya was afraid he was going to hit her again, but he just ran his hand down his face. “Is there a way to _make_ you a priority?”

She laughed. She honest-to-god laughed. She couldn’t help it, she had been so scared for so long now that she felt like her emotions were fraying. _Maybe you really are losing your mind._ “Trust me, if there was, I would have done it by now.”

Her laughter was cut off when Clark punched her in the solar plexus. She doubled over in the chair, gasping for breath. “That was almost as bad as the crying,” he muttered. He looked to Palmer, nodding his head toward the door. “Come on. We can try again later, and if he’s still stubborn about it, we could change course.” They both walked to the door, leaving Vanya’s line of sight. “I’m sure there are a ton of people who would pay big for any Hargreeves kid. I know Dr. Terminal in particular has been pissed ever since Number Three got away from him that one time…” The door closed and she couldn’t hear them anymore, but her blood had already run cold.

Vanya remembered when Allison came back from her encounter with Dr. Terminal. She had gotten separated on a mission and it had taken almost an hour to find her. Without Mom’s inhumanly precise surgical skill, she would have lost her arm. Allison, who was usually so unflappable, had been on edge for weeks after, snapping at the others and recoiling away from the gentlest of touches. No one ever told Vanya any details about what had happened.

Maybe dying in this cell was the lesser of two evils.

At least she was alone now. Maybe Palmer and Clark would come back to hurt her again later, but they weren’t hurting her _now_ , and that was important. And her siblings had cared. That was nice, that had been a pleasant surprise, at least someone had shown any concern at all for her wellbeing. She didn’t – well, it wasn’t like she thought they would _enjoy_ her being hurt, but she didn’t think they would really mind. They hated that she didn’t get hurt like they did in training and on missions, she knew that, and she had just – she had just assumed that they wouldn’t think that this was a big deal, that was all. Maybe they would have even thought it was fitting, the universe’s way of making up all the pain she had missed out on.

But they hadn’t. At least, it didn’t seem like they had. They’d looked scared, far more scared than they ever did in the press photos Vanya had seen of missions in action. They had looked as scared as she felt. And they had cried out, they’d protested Palmer and Clark’s actions while Dad had just stood by and watched. It wasn’t like Palmer and Clark would have ever listened to them, but still, it was nice. Morbidly so, yeah, but…nice.

Her captors hadn’t come back yet – it would probably be a while before they did. She wanted to take advantage of being alone again, of the opportunity to act without being punished.

She hung her head and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading and thank you for the comments so far, please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the author plays fast and loose with technology. if the show can do it, then so can i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter this time, but the next one will be longer!
> 
> the idea of allison being good with computers and technology was inspired by papayaromantic's excellent fic sitch and mend! it's a wonderful headcanon and a wonderful fic, i highly recommend it.

The screen shut off, and the room was plunged into a shocked silence.

Then it erupted.

It was impossible to distinguish individual words from the cacophony created by Diego, Allison, Ben, and Klaus. Luther stood by Pogo, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted in surprise as he looked blankly between his siblings and Dad.

“Br…br-bring her back!” Diego was shouting, gesturing madly to the dark screen. He normally wouldn’t dare to yell at his father like this, but he was so angry that he didn’t feel in control of his own body. Vanya had been there, she’d been _right there_. Diego couldn’t get the image of her face, bruised and dazed and smeared with blood, out of his head. “Bring her b-back!”

Dad’s eyed darkened as he looked at his enraged children before he raised his voice and snapped, “That is enough!”

And that shut them up. That would always shut them up.

His glare didn’t lessen. “You did not have permission to be in here, and I would have ejected you immediately if –“

“Ah, that was actually my fault, sir,” Pogo interjected. “I told the children that they could observe the video call.”

Dad stared at him for a long moment, exhaling through his nose. “We will discuss this privately,” he finally said, then turned back to the siblings. “As for you all, how I handle this situation is no business of yours. Now do as I ordered you earlier and _leave me to my work_.”

“Sir,” Luther began, and his voice was so earnest and devoid of outrage that it made Diego sick, “shouldn’t the Academy rescue her? We’ve successfully handled hostage situations before and we’re more than capable of saving Va- Number Seven.”

A pause.

“I’m disappointed in you, Number One. I thought you had enough respect for me to understand that when I say I have the situation handled, I mean it.” Dad’s voice was always cold, but there was an extra layer of frost when he said this.

_You_ didn’t _say you have it handled, though_ , Diego thought furiously, but oh, Luther wilted. He was already the tallest of them but he shrunk in on himself as Dad spoke. His mouth worked a couple times before he managed to say, “Yes, yes sir, of course. I respect you completely.”

Dad nodded once, a sharp little movement, before leaving the media room.

They watched him go. Pogo followed after. “I think it’s best to leave your father alone for now,” Mom advised.

Ben met Diego’s eyes. Diego nodded, and Ben turned to the rest of them. “Sibling meeting. Now.”

*

Pogo closed the door behind him when he entered Sir Reginald’s office. “Forgive me, sir, I thought it would be best for the children to see the exchange. That way they would not pester you with questions afterward.” That wasn’t the full reason, of course, but Reginald wouldn’t want to hear the truth.

Reginald waved his hand as he sat at his desk. “It is ultimately of no consequence. It would do you well, however, to resist the urge to coddle them.”

Pogo nodded and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Sir,” he began hesitantly, “I must ask…what are your plans regarding Miss Vanya’s medication?”

“A reasonable question.” He pulled out an orange bottle from his desk drawer. “Grace found this in Number Seven’s bedroom. Judging by the number of pills left, she took both doses yesterday. It should take at least two full days before enough medication is flushed from her system that she begins to access her powers.”

“And may I inquire as to what you plan to do in the meantime?”

Reginald put the bottle back in the drawer, shut it, and picked up his pen. “I’m confident that her captors will become sick of her presence within a day and they will be more open to my terms. I’ll have the price lowered significantly before her medication wears off, I am sure of it.”

That didn’t do much to put Pogo at ease. He formulated his next question carefully; if Reginald became defensive then he may never get his answer. “If I may…why did you refuse Master Luther’s suggestion to send the Academy? It strikes me as the more cost-effective solution.” Shame ate at him for talking about Vanya in such a way, but he knew that finance mattered more to Reginald than his daughter’s safety.

Reginald harrumphed. “It would only be cost-effective so long as none of them sustained any injuries, and Number Seven simply is not worth the risk of jeopardizing any high-profile missions that may arise in the coming weeks. No, I would very much like to save that as a last resort.”

Pogo felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. If he had stayed behind, if he had kept Vanya company, there was a good chance this never would have happened – why did he ever think going on a publicity outing of all things was a good idea?

But he kept that inside; he was good at pushing his feelings down. All he did was nod. “Yes, quite understandable.”

*

The siblings sat down in a circle on the attic floor. Diego had found one of the knives he’d left up here last time and flipped it in his hand, appreciating its comforting weight as he caught it again and again. He waited just long enough for everyone to sit down before launching in headfirst.

“So we’re busting out of here and rescuing her, right?”

Ben nodded immediately, his face gravely serious. Diego had never seen him so determined before a mission.

Allison also nodded without hesitation, and Diego got over his momentary surprise quickly. It made sense, he figured – Allison may not get along particularly well with Vanya, but she by no means hated her. And Allison knew firsthand how terrifying being alone with the enemy could be; she still flinched sometimes when people touched her left arm.

Klaus half-raised his hand. He was still looking wide-eyed and jittery. “Hi, hello, yes, let me just say I’m _loving_ the enthusiasm, but one teeny question – do we have any idea where she is?”

Allison cut in before Diego had to admit that he didn’t and he’d never been more grateful. “Tracking the signal will be easy, I just need to get back into the media room.”

“How long will that take?” Ben asked, leaning forward a bit.

She shrugged. “Not long, maybe an hour.”

Klaus hit his palms against his knees in a rapid-fire drum roll. “Well alright then, count me in!”

And just in case Diego started to feel too good on this shitastic day, Luther decided to speak up for the first time since they had called the sibling meeting. “No.” He sounded agitated and he was looking between all of them like they’d started speaking gibberish. “No, you’re not in, nobody’s in. Dad told us not to, so we’re not.”

Everyone groaned.

“We really don’t have time to deliberate, Luther,” Ben said far more politely than Diego could have managed.

Luther blinked, shaking his head slightly. “There’s nothing _to_ deliberate. Dad has the situation under control.”

Diego stabbed his knife into the floorboard beneath him. “No, Luther, Dad _said_ he has the situation under control. Except he doesn’t give a shit about Vanya, so for him that probably means letting those bastards kill her so that he won’t have to deal with her anymore.”

“Diego’s right,” Allison said, and under any other circumstances Diego would have asked her to repeat that so he could take a video of it for posterity. “I don’t think Dad cares too much about the safety of any of us, but especially not Vanya.”

“’Too much’?” Klaus snorted. “I don’t think the thought’s crossed his mind.”

Luther was growing frustrated, and when he talked he gesticulated with his entire body, throwing out his arms to either side. “Yes, he does! That’s why she doesn’t go on missions with us, she can’t defend herself.”

Ben put his hands over his face, groaning loudly, before lowering them and meeting Luther’s eyes. “Come on man, you know that’s not true. Think about it. If it’s because she can’t defend herself, then why hasn’t Dad ever taught her self-defense? If it’s because she could get hurt, then why does Dad make Allison and Diego practice their powers on her sometimes?” Diego flushed – he didn’t know Ben knew about that. It was true that Dad would occasionally use Vanya as ‘incentive’ to practice his midair curves, but they never talked about it afterwards, and by the look on Allison’s face she was in the same boat. But apparently Vanya had told Ben at some point. “Hell, Luther, why wouldn’t she have come on the publicity trip with us yesterday? That was perfectly safe, and if she had then we wouldn’t be dealing with this! They could be torturing her _right now_!”

Luther clenched and unclenched his fists, but it took him a moment to think of what to say next. That was the thing about Ben, he was devastatingly good at making sense. “Then why wouldn’t Dad send us after her immediately? He has a plan, guys, we’re just not part of it.”

He was so close to getting it that it made Diego want to scream. “I literally just told you, dude! His plan is to let whatever happens happen. He only cares about us because we’re the Academy, but she’s not a part of it! If he gave a shit at all don’t you think he would have shown any fucking emotion when they were hurting her?”

“And since when did you care so much, Two? You’ve never even liked her!” Luther shouted.

And yeah, Diego and Vanya had never really gotten along. And yeah, Diego sometimes even resented her because she didn’t have to put up with Dad and she didn’t have to go on missions and instead got to sit in the mansion and play her violin all day while they went out and fought armed adults twice their size. And she was so goddamn meek that she was difficult to talk to and she had a way of guilting you for doing literally anything in her presence because everything made her upset.

But she was also the only one of them who still hadn’t given up on Five, and her violin was really soothing to listen to after a long day of training, and she could help you find any book in the library even faster than Ben could because she had memorized where they all were. And yeah, maybe Diego did tease her sometimes, but she was still his only sibling who had never once made fun of his stutter.

Her screams from when they had burned her were still ringing in his ears – was that sound really not haunting Luther like it was haunting him?

He met Luther’s eyes with a steady gaze, and his voice was low when he said, “She’s my sister, Luther. She’s yours, too.”

Luther flinched back like the words had struck him. “I – I know that, I just…I know that, okay?”

His siblings said nothing.

His eyes darted back and forth between them, his shoulders slowly hunching in, before he sighed. “Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s do this. Allison, can you start tracking the signal now?”

She was smiling widely, looking relieved that Luther had finally seen the light. “Absolutely.”

“Waaaait, hold on Ally,” Klaus said, holding his hand out toward her as she stood up.

Diego yanked his knife out of the floor and started flipping it even faster than he had been before. “Oh my god, what is it now?”

“I saw Mom take V’s med bottle to Dad’s office, I think you should rumor Pogo to get it back.” Diego noted that he didn’t suggest rumoring dad, which was smart – he was the only person Allison flat-out refused to use her power on. She had never said what punishment Dad had threatened her with, but it couldn’t have been good.

“Why?” Luther wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“She’s on some strong shit. I should know, I stole a couple once and I could barely get out of bed. I don’t want her to miss a dose and start going through withdrawal when we’re trying to get her out, it can be nasty.”

“That’s a good call. Now if you excuse me,” she added lightly as she did a little curtsy, “I, as usual, have to go do all the work. You’re welcome.” She sprinted out of the attic.

As soon as she got to the stairs, Ben turned to the rest of them. “Okay, so I was thinking we could use the Griddy’s sneak-out plan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really should have held off on posting this chapter because now my buffer between what i've posted and what i've written is less than a chapter, but i got impatient. i have most of the next chapter written but i really need to finish my work for this semester, so it might take a bit. posting more of this story will be my reward to myself for completing my schoolwork. 
> 
> as always, please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you this one would be longer

Somehow, the Griddy’s sneak-out plan had actually worked. At least, it worked for getting them outside the mansion. Allison was able to find the source of the call, and while it wasn’t far away (thank _Christ_ it wasn’t far away), it wasn’t within walking distance either.

“Guys, this is crazy,” Luther protested, but he slid into the backseat anyway. “We’re totally gonna get caught.”

“I think Dad might figure out we disobeyed him anyway once we come back with Vanya,” Ben deadpanned.

Allison twisted around in her seat to face them. “How about a ‘thank you, Allison, for not only getting the location _and_ Vanya’s meds, but _also_ having the foresight to grab the keys’?”

“We gave you shotgun, didn’t we?” Klaus said, kicking her seat for emphasis.

“Everyone shut the fuck up, I need to concentrate,” Diego snapped as he pulled the car away from the curb and set off down the street.

Luther was sitting in the seat behind him so Diego could hear but not see him when he said, “Wait, I thought you said you knew how to drive?”

Diego barked out a laugh. “Bro, when the fuck would I have learned how to drive? I just said that so that you would let me.”

Luther sputtered and Klaus laughed, but from his seat in the middle Ben ignored them and leaned forward. “Whatever, we just need to get there fast.”

The car accelerated. “Wayyy ahead of you.”

“And alive,” Allison added, gripping her seatbelt. “Alive is a definite must.”

“Of course,” Diego said as he swerved to switch lanes, speaking over the blaring horn of the car he’d just cut off. “Safety first.”

*

Vanya had lost track of time again. She had no idea how long it had been since Palmer and Clark had left; seconds and minutes and hours ( _days_ lurked around in the periphery of her mind, but she was too scared to look at it directly) were blurred together and meaningless in here. She thought she might be periodically falling asleep – well, maybe it was less “being asleep” and more “not being awake,” but either way it was difficult to tell when the room insisted on looking the same every time she opened her eyes. If she hadn’t slept since the night before she was kidnapped, then she had been awake for at least…fuck, her head was too muddled to do the math. The numbers were intangible and slippery. All that mattered is it had been too long – she was exhausted. Her back and arms ached from the hours she’d spent on this chair, and she would have given anything to be able to lie down.

It had been long enough that her nose had stopped bleeding, which she appreciated, even though the dried blood felt tacky and gross on her face and neck. Her mouth tasted like blood too, all metallic and nausea-inducing. She had sweated bullets earlier as a result of the panic and pain response and now she was freezing in her short sleeves and bare feet.

The burn was doing badly. The wound itself was small, but the pain encompassed her entire arm and it pulsed with an agonizing white-hot heat. All the bruises on her face had merged together into an indistinct sea of pain. Her eye had swollen a bit, but it was still open. Between the blood and the swelling she couldn’t breathe out her nose.

She didn’t like that she was spending so much time focusing on her injuries, but she didn’t have anything else to do. It was pretty much just that and almost-sleep. Going over facts of subjects she liked felt both tedious and silly, counting was boring, and letting her mind even stray in the direction of her family and the potential (or lack thereof) of being rescued was enough to start her spiraling. She was tired of this constant panic attack.

The door slammed open and she jumped at the sound. She tugged at the restraints without thinking – all she knew was she didn’t want her captors anywhere near her.

It was futile, of course. But while Palmer and Clark hovered in her periphery, the man who crouched down in front of her to match her eye level was someone new. He was a little shorter than the other two, a little leaner, a little paler, and the stubble on his face was patchy like he hadn’t been paying attention while shaving. He looked at her with unbridled delight, like the zoo had gotten a new exhibit; it made her extremely uncomfortable.

“Well ho-ly shit,” he said, dragging out each word, “you weren’t kidding.”

“Why would we have been kidding,” Palmer muttered.

Vanya’s throat was raw from when she had screamed earlier, so it came out as a croak when she hesitantly guessed, “…Haverford?”

He looked surprised in an amused sort of way. “My reputation seems to precede me. Yours doesn’t though, Vanya Hargreeves.” He paused, cocked his head. “Middle name?”

She blinked. “Uh, none?”

He made a little _hm_ noise but shrugged. “Alright. Well, Vanya Hargreeves, I must confess I’m something of an Umbrella Academy superfan. I usually do recon, surveillance, that sort of thing, but when these two told me they found a _seventh_ Hargreeves kid I just had to come see for myself. You know nobody out there has any idea you exist, right? This is a big day, really.” His eyes shone. The way he was looking at her made her feel like some sort of specimen, like a butterfly pinned to a board. The universe was adding some insult to injury, huh? For years she’d envied all the fans and attention her siblings got, and now this creep was ecstatic to meet her. “So no powers? None at all, not even a boring one?”

Her only response was to shake her head. _I’ve made that pretty damn clear_ , she thought but was nowhere near brave enough to say.

“Interesting. Not to be blunt, but what does Reggie keep you around for then?”

She ducked her head. Somehow these men knew just what to say to provoke her insecurities. _Next they’ll be insulting your violin playing._ “I – I don’t,” she stammered, before sighing. Every time she tried not to answer something, they would end up hurting her and she would tell them anyway. “He says I’m a good control. Someone to contrast my siblings’ data against. And I can help in training, keeping time and records and stuff like that.” Saying so much at once was weird – the words felt too big for her mouth.

“Fair enough,” he said and stood up to his full height. “Lucky for you, huh? That he didn’t just kill you off like he did Number Five –“

“Five isn’t dead!” she shouted, indignation spurring her mouth to move much faster than her brain, and she was immediately overcome with horror. She shouldn’t have done that, she shouldn’t have done that, _they would be so mad_ –

She could hear Clark mutter something under his breath in annoyance, but Haverford just furrowed his brow. “Where is he?”

The righteous fury that had taken hold of her a second ago was gone, leaving her hollowed out and shaking. “He, he ran away…I don’t know where he is, but he isn’t dead. Dad didn’t kill him, and he isn’t dead.” Her words were slurring together a bit in her exhaustion but she didn’t know how to make herself stop it.

“Well, I guess you would know,” he replied, and his conversational tone did not prepare her at all for the way he stomped his boot down on her bare left foot.

The scream tore itself from her throat as she tried frantically to yank her foot away. The bottom of his boot scraped at her newly-broken skin but she was able to free it, pulling her knee up and bracing her heel against the seat. She realized she was screaming words: “ _Shit_! What the – _shit_! _Fuck_!” Her foot felt crushed, he had fucking crushed it, she didn’t understand how it could be both numb and excruciating at the same time but it _was_. She moved her knee so she could look at it and almost vomited. The flesh was torn and ragged, there was blood, were those toes broken? They felt broken. She looked away quickly. Vanya clawed desperately at the arm rests and slammed her head against the seatback, trying to find some outlet for the fire consuming her foot.

Haverford held a finger up. “Don’t yell at me again.”

She hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ ,” she gasped, her voice high and fragile.

“Shut up,” Clark ordered, and so she did, trying as hard as she could not to make any noise even though _fuck_ it hurt so badly. He stepped in front of her and she noticed for the first time that he was holding a video camera.

“So here’s the plan, Vanya Hargreeves,” Haverford said, pulling on a ski mask. _Oh god._ “I’m not ready to give up negotiations with Sir Reginald yet.”

“I am, though,” Palmer interjected, “so if this doesn’t work we’re going to go ahead and try plan B. I still think Terminal or Perseus is our best bet.” He directed his words more toward the other men than to her. Clark shrugged wordlessly.

Vanya didn’t give a shit about this weird infighting. Her crushed foot was still overwhelming her with pain and she couldn’t stop moving – her sweaty fingers clenched and unclenched around the arm rests, she ground her teeth, she drove the heel of her uninjured foot repeatedly into the chair’s leg. She knew about Dr. Terminal, she knew about Perseus, Palmer probably wanted to sell her to be used as some sick experiment or revenge plot.

But first she had to deal with whatever Haverford was going to do. Other than a small eye-roll, he ignored Palmer, instead gesturing behind him to Clark’s camera. “Sir Reginald’s playing hard to get – I respect that. So no live feed this time, just a good old fashion video. We’ll raise the stakes a bit, send the tape your dad’s way, and see if he changes his tune.”

And then he pulled out a knife.

There was no forgetting the pain in her foot (or her arm or her face or her head) but the sight of the blade sent her into a full-blown panic. It was too much to process, too much to think, too much to _feel_ , she felt like her mind was being torn in half, her brain was a taught elastic band that was one tug away from snapping.

She pressed herself to the back of the chair as hard as she could, as if that would make any difference at all. “No, I – no, really, please, he’s not gonna –“

“For the love of god, kid, shut up,” she could hear Clark say, but she shook her head wildly.

“I mean it, Dad doesn’t –“

Haverford started laughing. He was – what? She didn’t relax her posture at all but the confusion did slow her struggling.

Palmer crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He had put on a ski mask at some point too. “I told you she was jumpy.”

Haverford snorted. “Clearly. I’m cutting your wrists free, Vanya Hargreeves.”

He said it like she should be embarrassed. Like she should have understood that as soon as he pulled out a goddamn knife. Well fuck that, she wasn’t going to get all sheepish just because she didn’t want to be _stabbed_. She still recoiled when he brought the knife closer, but he didn’t do anything other than cut the tape holding her arms down.

Her arms were stiff from holding the position for so long; they protested when she snatched her hands back toward her chest. The skin of her wrists was chafed from the pulling and gummy from the adhesive. She rubbed at them, distantly grateful for the chill of the room because it meant her fingers were cold when she pressed them to her raw skin.

Before she could really appreciate her newfound freedom of movement, Haverford grabbed her shirt collar and hauled her to her feet. She instinctually put weight on her left foot and regretted it immediately; she would have collapsed if not for the arm he wrapped around her neck, holding her tight in a headlock. She leaned all her weight on her right foot and scrabbled at his arm, trying to get him to let her go, but her fingernails were bitten down so far that he didn’t even seem to notice. _Five always told you that was a bad habit._ Her heart was beating so hard she genuinely thought it might explode.

“Are you rolling?” Haverford asked, and Clark nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Vanya’s entire body trembled.

“Sir Reginald!” Haverford said like he was running into his hero on the street. The way his casual tone contrasted against his actions was giving her whiplash. “Mr. Hargreeves, sir. First, let me say it’s such an honor to be in communication with you, I’m a huge admirer of your work. That being said, I can’t believe you would hide Vanya here from the public! There was a Number Seven this whole time! As a fan, I’m hurt.”

Vanya wasn’t even trying to struggle, she was just trying to keep her balance while being held in such an awkward position with only one working foot, but Haverford violently shook her anyway. “And Sir, I want to give you another chance to help us help you get her back. Because if you wait too long to decide, we’re going to have to pursue other options, ones that won’t make you _or_ Vanya happy.

“I will say though, I’m shocked at how easy it’s been to contain her. Tell me Vanya Hargreeves, did Sir Reginald ever give you any self-defense training?”

She whimpered in response.

“Hmm, I guess not. You might want to invest in some lessons, Sir, because – and pardon me for saying so – this is a little pathetic.” Then he released her from the headlock and pushed her. She stumbled but Palmer caught her, turning her around and pulling her arms behind her back. More weight was put on her injured foot and flashing lights burst in front of her eyes.

She wanted to black out. She just wanted to pass out and escape all this. But she didn’t, her brain had kicked into overdrive and she was hyperaware of everything as Haverford punched her in the stomach once, twice, then dealt another blow to the face. He punched her in the solar plexus again and she choked on her own breath. Palmer let her go and she collapsed to the floor, her one foot not enough to support the dead weight of her body. She went down hard on the concrete, and now someone was kicking her, she didn’t know or care if it was Palmer or Haverford or both, it didn’t fucking matter because all that mattered was it _hurt_. A boot drove into her ribs so she tried to curl up to protect them; a stomp landed on her side and now she turned to try to protect that, leaving her ribs vulnerable again. The blows fell on her back, her ribs, her shins, anywhere – she heard something snap, at least a couple ribs had to be cracked or broken judging by the pain lancing through her abdomen.

She didn’t cry. She was past crying. She screamed, and she cried out, but she didn’t weep. She was utterly helpless, just like she always had been, and the only thing left for her to do was wait.

They were beating the shit out of her. They were going to beat the shit out of her and it wouldn’t change Dad’s mind so then they were going to sell her to whichever enemy hated the Umbrella Academy more and then they were going to beat the shit out of her too. Or worse. _And it’s not even because of you_. A boot stomped down on her shoulder. _This has everything to do with your dad and siblings and nothing to do with you._ Another kick to her ribs. _Not even your own kidnapping and torture is about you._

She distantly heard some commotion but didn’t really register it. The blood rushing in her ears was deafening and she would have been too dazed to make out details even if they hadn’t kicked her in the head. She was dizzy – the sudden absence of disorienting blows made her feel like the ground beneath her was shifting like the deck of a boat. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her arms were protecting her head as she lay on her side and she tried to use this brief pause to catch her breath. It was probably more bickering between her captors. She just waited for the next kick.

But it didn’t come.

Another second went by. And another. And still nothing happened.

She cracked open her eyes but could barely see anything through her swimming vision. Something dark stepped before her and she flinched, turning her face into the floor so it couldn’t be hit.

But still, _still_ , no one hurt her. Instead, a voice said gently, carefully, like the speaker was afraid she would shatter if the word was said more forcefully, “Vanya?”

The voice was violently out of place in this hellish little room, and it was so familiar that it made her eyes fly back open. She tried to turn onto her back to get a better view, but she couldn’t move that much, so she had to settle for blinking up at the figure crouching above her from her awkward angle against the floor. Talking was hard, and her voice sounded garbled and nearly unintelligible even to herself when she said:

“Diego?”

*

It was a testament to how nervous they all were when they pulled up to their destination that nobody made a crack about Diego managing to get them there in one piece. It was some industrial factory’s office building on the outskirts of town, in the area where they used to make cars but didn’t anymore. The building was unassuming, isolated, but its dark grey silhouette against the light-polluted night sky filled Diego with a distinct feeling of unease as he exited the car. The heavy silence of the compound made the hair on his arms stand on end.

There were two other cars in the sprawling parking lot, one sedan and one van. Ben nodded at them. “Looks like they’re still here.”

“Good,” Luther said grimly. Everyone instinctually turned to him, Diego included (though he kicked himself for it). “Klaus, are there any ghosts around that could tell us what room Vanya’s in?”

Klaus clicked his tongue and winced. “Ooh, no can do, big guy. I’m not, strictly speaking, sober at the moment.” There was a note of genuine apology in his voice, one that had never been present in any of the other times Diego had heard him admit to being drunk or high.

Luther must have heard it too, because instead of chastising Klaus like he usually would he just nodded and moved on. “Alright. I’ll break down the door and take point. Two, Three, cover me. Six and Four take the rear. For now we’ll search together – no splitting up. Ben, try not to use the Horror, we don’t know how confined the area will be and we don’t want to accidentally hurt Vanya.”

“No complaints here,” Ben muttered as he and the others got in formation behind Luther.

The lock broke under the force of Luther’s kick and the door slammed open. Diego slid two knives from his holster, one for each hand, and followed him in. To his left, Allison mirrored his own fighting stance, and Ben and Klaus were a reassuring presence behind him. The interior, dimly lit by fluorescents, was every inch the derelict administration office it appeared to be on the outside, all beige walls and worn-down carpeting.

Diego’s palms were beginning to sweat – he wiped them against his shorts so he wouldn’t lose grip of his knives. He had only felt this apprehensive on two other missions: their first one ever, and their first one without Five. The team crept down the hallway, keeping their footsteps as quiet as possible as they investigated every room they passed. One had a plastic table covered in takeout boxes; another had a workbench covered in loose wires and stray bits of computer. But no sign of Vanya.

They were almost to the end of the hallway when Allison stopped in her tracks, throwing out her arm in front of Luther. “Quiet.” She paused. “Do you hear that?”

Diego held his breath and strained his ears. After a second, he heard it too: distant, muffled grunts and shouts.

“Fuck, that’s gotta be her,” Klaus whispered.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ben bit back.

Luther squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating hard, before they flew back open. “It’s coming from this way,” he said and sprinted down the hallway, turning around the right corner. The others ran after him.

They followed the sounds to a door that opened up to a stairwell. The noises were coming from the basement, and as they barreled down the stairs they got more distinct, shouts of pain echoing off the walls that were unmistakably Vanya’s. Diego’s heartbeat in his ears rivaled the sound of their feet pounding down the concrete steps.

There was a door at the bottom, and Luther wasted no time in letting out a snarl that sounded more animal than human as he ripped it off its hinges.

Instincts honed by years of missions and training had Diego automatically taking note of the room’s layout within the first second. One chair, dead center of the room. Three men: one in front of the chair and holding a video camera who turned to them in surprise as soon as the door fell; two on the room’s right side looming over a shape huddled on the ground, both interrupted mid-kick. And Vanya – oh fuck, the figure cowering on the floor.

The man in the center of the room dropped his camera, letting it clatter to the concrete in favor of reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband. He didn’t get the chance before Allison was on him, grabbing his wrist and – in a fluid motion that used his own weight against him – snapping it. “I heard a rumor you didn’t fight back,” she commanded, and his eyes glazed over white a second before he stopped struggling, leaving him standing there whimpering in pain.

One down, two to go. Diego let one knife fly, concentrating on where he wanted it to go and – bullseye. One of the men standing by Vanya let out a strangled cry as the blade sunk into the meat of his calf, the very same leg that had been poised to kick her just a moment ago. He didn’t have enough time to even realize what had happened before Luther went up, grabbed his arm and spun, wrenching his arm out of its socket and slamming him face-first into the wall with a grotesque thud and a dull _snap_. Down for the count.

Klaus of all people full-body tackled the last man. The two stumbled and fell, landing a good distance from where Vanya lay. They wrestled on the floor and Klaus did a damn good job of holding his own against this man twice his size. He didn’t have to for long though – Ben ran over and kicked the man repeatedly in the head until he stopped writhing.

It was over fast. The bastards hadn’t stood a chance.

With everyone else occupied with restraining the men, Diego rushed to Vanya. She flinched as he approached, pressing her face to the floor, and his heart broke. It had never hit him just how small she was until he saw her like this, curled up on the floor and shying away from him. He crouched down beside her and said gently, so gently, “Vanya?”

She jerked like she wanted to move but only succeeded in slightly uncurling her arms from up around her head. The motion exposed part of her face and he could see her dark brown eyes blinking up at him; one was swollen and shadowed by a purple bruise. She tried to speak, but could barely get the word out. “Ee-ay’o?”

He nodded and his own voice shook as his throat choked up. “Yeah, it’s m-me. We’re here to rescue you, we’re t…ta-taking you home.”

Her eyes drifted shut and she slid a hand across the floor over to him, palm up. He delicately took it. Her fingers were cold. A single sob escaped her and she hissed, her entire body tensing in pain. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. So he didn’t. He lightly squeezed her hand, just enough to let her know that he was still there. “Hey, stay with me. Don’t fall asleep, okay?”

“M’kay,” she slurred, still not opening her eyes.

On the other side of the room, Allison had rumored all three men to sit still on the floor and stay quiet. The two who had been attacking Vanya were stripped of their masks, allowing Diego to appreciate their fish-out-of-water expressions as they sat there wide-eyed and silent. It blew his mind that they could look surprised, like they really hadn’t expected the Academy to come and kick their asses.

“Is she okay?” Ben asked as he joined Diego at Vanya’s side. It took everything in his power to not snap back with _No, what the hell do you think?_ – he didn’t want to scare Vanya.

He swallowed back the words and said instead, “She’s awake.” _For now_. “We’re gonna have to cuh-carry her out.”

Ben brushed some hair out of Vanya’s face, taking care not to touch her bruises. Between the dim light and the mass of dried blood, it was hard to make out where the actual cuts on her face were. “I’m sorry we took so long. Do you want help sitting up?”

She opened her eyes – it took a second for them to focus on Ben, and she looked disoriented, but at least she kept them open. “I…don’t think I can. My ribs…”

Ben’s own eyes widened but he kept his voice calm. “That’s okay, you don’t have to. We can carry you.” He called over his shoulder to the rest of the team, “Are we good to go?”

Klaus cleared his throat. “Just about, but uh, what do we want to do with these pricks?” he asked as he roughly nudged one of the men with his foot. The man glared daggers at him, and Klaus kicked at him harder.

Diego pursed his lips. “We can’t…we can’t just, k-kill them, right?” He was genuinely asking. Everyone looked uncomfortable with the question, but he could tell they were thinking it too. They’d killed people on missions before, sure, but always in combat, always when their lives were in danger. The thought of killing these men in cold blood made him feel a little sick.

But they’d hurt Vanya. They had hurt her _so badly_. They deserved death and worse – Diego couldn’t stand the thought of them being out in the world, either.

But then he felt Vanya’s fingers lightly tighten on his own. “Don’t, please,” she murmured.

Klaus ran his hand back and forth through his hair. “Are you sure? We’d do it if you wanted, no questions asked.” The men’s eyes looked like they were going to bug out of their skulls.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Her voice was a little stronger now, even as she laid still, but it was still rough and shaky. “Don’t hurt them. I just want to go home.”

Klaus looked at her for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever you say.” He aimed yet another kick at the man closest to him. “Christ, you have no idea how lucky you are.”

“My rumor won’t hold forever,” Allison warned. “When we get home we can tell Dad where they are, but if we don’t restrain them they’ll get away.” She and Luther hadn’t come over to check on Vanya yet; instead, they had positioned themselves between the men and their sister, a protective human wall.

Klaus snapped his fingers. “I saw duct tape on the workbench upstairs, back in a jiff.” He ran out the room.

Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim silver flask, unscrewing the top. Diego squinted at him. “Seriously, dude?”

Ben blinked owlishly. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s water. I stole it from Klaus and rinsed it out.” Now he met Vanya’s eyes. “I’m going to clean and bandage your burn, alright? When we get home we can treat it better, but we should make sure it isn’t dirty now.”

She made a soft noise from the back of her throat. “Okay.” Ben reached for her left arm – she was lying on her right side, so she didn’t have to move. When he began to pour the water on the wound she sucked in a hiss through her teeth, her right hand squeezing Diego’s, but she didn’t complain.

By the time Klaus came back with the duct tape, Ben was securing the gauze he had brought with him over Vanya’s burn. Luther, Allison, and Klaus made quick work of taping up the men and dragging them each to different corners of the room, then made a beeline for their siblings.

Vanya was breathing heavily, there was a slight wheeze to it, and Diego felt way too out of his depth. He wanted to get her home as fast as possible, he wanted Mom to heal her injuries, he just wanted this all to be over. Diego was a hero. He fixed things, he made things better, that was his whole job, his whole _life_. But the bad guys had been defeated, Vanya had been rescued, but she was still lying broken on the floor.

“Hey Vanny,” Klaus said, forcing a smile. “We brought your meds in case you missed a dose.”

A small crease formed between her eyes as she tried to think back. “What…how long have I been here?”

“It’s late Saturday night. Well, technically Sunday morning by this point. You were – you’ve been gone since Friday night,” Ben supplied.

Her eyes widened. She looked freaked out, but didn’t start panicking. She swallowed. “Mm, yeah, I should…thank you.”

“No problemo,” Klaus said. Allison handed the prescription bottle down to Ben, who helped Vanya take the pill. Her hands were too weak to hold the flask so Ben kept it steady for her. She had to raise her upper body slightly to do it, and when she was done she collapsed back down, panting.

“I’m gonna pick you up,” Luther announced in a voice brimming with artificial confidence. He made to move towards Vanya, but then hesitated. “Is – is that okay?” Diego shook his head in amazement – Luther was either an inconsiderate asshole or too polite for his own good, no in between.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she murmured.

Diego gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go and making way for Luther. “Be careful,” he warned, “her ribs might be broken.”

Luther’s eyes widened and he took care to slow his movements. He lifted her smoothly, gently, with all the fine motor control he’d ever learned to manage his super strength, but she still grimaced and a whine rose softly from her chest. Luther looked just as pained, but it was unavoidable – there was no way this wasn’t going to hurt. He walked to the doorway with careful steps, Ben and Klaus right behind him.

But Diego remained in place. “I’ll catch up in a second, I just need to get my knife back,” he said when Ben gave him a curious look.

“And I’ll stay with him. You know, safety in numbers,” Allison added, earning a surprised side-eye glance from Diego. Ben looked like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it and followed the others upstairs.

Diego didn’t end up having to ask Allison why she had stayed. As soon as they turned to each other and he saw her face – her eyes dark and steady, her expression more serious than any interviewer or press agent had ever or would ever see on her – he knew she was thinking the same thing he was, even before she spoke.

“It doesn’t feel right.”

He ran his fingers along the handle of one of his holstered knives. “I know.”

Her expression twisted in confliction as she exhaled through her nose. “But she doesn’t want us to hurt them.”

“I know.” He sighed, looking around at the men. Each was isolated in their respective corners with their hands, feet, elbows, and knees thoroughly taped together. Tape was over each of their mouths, too. The one with the broken wrist was sweating heavily, gasping for air through his nose as the tape aggravated his injury. The one with the dislocated shoulder was in a similar state. Diego hadn’t been able to see the full faces of the first two men during the video call, but he had seen their eyes. All that horrible confidence from earlier, all that sickening bravado, was absent now. It had been drained out and replaced with fear and uncertainty as they watched Numbers Two and Three debate over their lives. But it wasn’t enough.

They’d hurt Vanya. Vanya, the normal one, the defenseless one, the one who had never had an injury worse than a twisted ankle, the one who had never been in a situation more dangerous than Dad in a bad mood. They had burned her, they had beaten her, they had done god knows what else, and they had done it like it was nothing, like it was all par for the course. Diego could feel his blood pressure rising as he thought about the way the one man had so casually videotaped his cohorts ruthlessly kicking her. He gripped the knife handle harder.

“In the transmission,” Allison started, and she wasn’t breathing heavily like Diego had begun to, but her voice was calm and carefully restrained in that way it only was when she was unspeakably furious, “when they burned her, she screamed for them to stop. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk that loudly.” She looked him dead in the eyes.

Fuck it. What Vanya didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Allison,” he began, his voice dripping with menace and faux sincerity, “do you remember which of these assholes I stabbed when we came in?”

The knife in question was still lodged in the calf of the man who, based on the clothing, wasn’t present during the original video call. Blood was soaking his pant leg and dripping down the blade, collecting in a pool beneath him. At Diego’s words his eyes widened.

Allison tilted her head thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t recall.”

“I should check all of them, don’t you think?”

She smiled, all photogenic and magazine cover-ready. “Best to be safe.”

In a smooth motion, he pulled the knife he’d been fidgeting with out of its holster and curved it into the leg of one of the other men. Less than a second later there was another flash of silver and the final man had a matching blade sticking out of his leg as well. Their cries were barely muffled behind the tape. They tried as hard as they could to reach the knives despite their tied-up hands and arms, but it was futile. _Just like it had been for Vanya when they had held that cigarette to her arm_ , he thought.

He looked at them for a second before turning back to Allison. “Well what do you know,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over their shouts, “it was all of them.”

He went around to each corner and none-too-gently pulled out the knives, wiping the blood off on the men’s respective sleeves. Their exclamations died down to ragged breaths as they watched the teens warily.

Diego rejoined Allison by the door, but she didn’t move to leave yet. She looked at each of the men, addressing them all in a diplomatic voice when she said, “I have a confession for you all. We’ve never shared this Academy secret with anyone, but just this once, I’m willing to make an exception.”

At the mention of the Academy, the eyebrows of the man Diego had originally stabbed shot up.

“I’m sure you’re aware that the Umbrella Academy doesn’t work in conjunction with the police. Any criminals left alive after we defeat them are dealt with directly by Sir Reginald Hargreeves himself. The public has no idea what he does with them, but here’s the secret: neither do we.” She paused, letting the words weigh heavy in the air for just long enough before she continued. “Dad has never told us. He takes them away and we never see them again, and any time we ask he says the same thing: ‘That is none of your concern.’ But once, just one time, he must have had a lot on his mind when we asked, because he said: ‘ _The Hotel_ is none of your concern.’ That’s the only hint we have. And that’s the only hint _you’ll_ have. Neither of us have any information about it, but the difference is – you’re about to learn.” The sharpness of her words was made all the more dangerous by her measured tone. She leaned forward slightly, her teeth sparkling brilliantly when she smiled. “And I heard a rumor you were terrified.”

All three pairs of eyes fogged with white.

By the time their muffled cries reverberated off the concrete walls, Diego and Allison were already halfway up the stairs.

They were silent for the rest of the walk. When they made it to the point in the office corridor where the noises could no longer reach, Allison paused, lightly touching Diego’s elbow in an unspoken request for him to stop. He did so, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak. But she didn’t. She looked at him with an unreadable expression, with eyes too old for a sixteen-year-old, eyes that all six of them had, and said nothing.

Ah.

He didn’t feel good about hurting those men, but he didn’t feel bad either. What he and Allison had just done was only a fraction of what they had done to Vanya. Vanya hadn’t wanted her siblings to hurt them, but it was hard to look past the fact that she had been lying half dead on a dirty floor when she’d said that. Diego wasn’t proud of his actions, but at least he was semi-satisfied – when he tried to imagine walking away after doing nothing, he wasn’t satisfied at all. And they hadn’t killed them, which was more than could be said for other foes the Umbrella Academy had faced.

And that’s where it all came back to. For the Umbrella Academy, there were no good options. Moral dilemmas were just fodder for nightmares later down the road, no matter what choice they made.

So Diego didn’t say anything either. He just put his hand on her shoulder and nodded. Understanding flashed in her eyes; she nodded back, and the two of them wordlessly walked down the rest of the hall.

They weren’t going to talk about it tonight.

They might not talk about it ever.

When they exited the building, it was clear they had just caught up with the other group. Luther was almost at the car, walking very slowly so as not to jostle Vanya too much. Ben and Klaus had already taken up position in the car’s third row of seats.

They jogged to the car, getting there the same time Luther did. He inclined his head by way of greeting. “We decided it would be best to lay Vanya across the middle row, but somebody should probably sit with her.”

“I’ll do it,” Allison responded immediately. She climbed into the car before anyone could protest, crawling across and sitting behind the driver’s seat. Luther leaned through the door as delicately as he could and draped Vanya on her back across the seats, laying her head in Allison’s lap.

After making sure she was settled, he closed the door, walked around to the other side of the car and declared, “I’m driving.” His tone left no room for argument, but Diego didn’t have enough energy to anyway.

Diego got in the passenger’s seat, buckled his seatbelt, and twisted around. In the way back, Ben and Klaus were leaning against each other, both looking equally drained; he turned his attention to Vanya in Allison’s lap. She looked even worse in the car light. Her clothes were rumpled and filthy, her vest and pants covered in dirt from rolling around on the floor. Thick trails of dried blood wound their way from her nose all the way down her neck and the front of her collar was stained red. There was more blood smeared across her face, and it was still hard to distinguish where all the wounds were because of it, but she definitely had a cut across the bridge of her nose, on her right cheekbone, and beneath her left eye. There was bruising on both cheeks, around her jaw, and the skin around her left eye was dark purple. _Her left, my right_ , his training wouldn’t let him not think. _Her attacker was right handed_.

She was still awake, but her face remained blank and emotionless as Allison gently stroked her messy hair. He took note of her unfocused, dazed eyes right before Luther started the car and the light shut off. Shit, they should check for a concussion for sure.

Luther pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed back in the direction of the mansion. He drove as carefully as he had walked while carrying Vanya. Other than the barely-audible radio playing some soft classic rock song, there was total silence. It was still dark out, but the eastern sky was lightly tinged with pre-dawn grey. Diego was just able to pick out the telephone wires against it, black on dark grey, and watched them gently thread their way across the sky. Exhaustion weighed down his limbs and his mind as the adrenaline wore off. He was too tired to groan when he remembered they would have to deal with Dad when they got back. His eyes slid shut. It had been a long day.

A sniffle broke the silence as harshly as a gunshot.

He opened his eyes and tried to look in the backseat as covertly as possible. Vanya was crying now – he could see the shine of tears on her face – and she was grabbing at the lapel of Allison’s blazer with one hand. She winced as she cried, caught in a vicious cycle: she sobbed, which made it hurt more, which made her cry more. Allison kept stroking her hair, trying to be a comforting presence.

Diego must not have been as subtle as he had hoped, because Vanya seemed to realize she had the car’s attention. She looked embarrassed and guilty. She tried to silence her sobs, and when that didn’t work she made her free hand into a fist and pressed it against her mouth, biting the knuckle of her index finger. She whispered something that Diego couldn’t make out, but Allison made a soft shushing noise and gently but firmly moved Vanya’s hand away before she could hurt herself. “Hey, no, it’s okay. You can cry if you have to, it’s okay.”

Vanya’s breath caught in her throat and she looked up at Allison with wide eyes and more vulnerability than Diego had ever seen on her face. He hadn’t realized how guarded she always was until he saw just how open she looked now.

Light reflected off the tears building in Allison’s eyes as she smiled at her. “We missed you,” she said, nearly a whisper, and Diego swore the weight of the world rested on those three words.

Diego and the rest of the siblings offered their own gentle agreements:

“It’s good to have you back.”

“It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“We’re here for you.”

“We love you, Van.”

She blinked at the words, looking overwhelmed. For a few silent moments she stared at the ceiling of the car, her breaths coming short and quick as her fingers tightened on Allison’s blazer. Finally, finally, she turned her head and buried her face in Allison’s sweater vest, sobbing loudly into the fabric. Allison took Vanya’s free hand in her own. She held it loosely enough that Vanya could reject it if she wanted, but Vanya gripped it fiercely.

Nobody spoke. Diego tried to focus on the sound of the engine, on the sound of cars passing by them, on the sound of the radio – listening to Vanya’s wracking sobs, to the shuffle of fabric as her body shook and convulsed, felt like an invasion of privacy. But he still noticed when her sobs died down some time later. She sniffled to catch her breath, and her voice was wet and brittle when she asked, “Can you turn up the music?”

Luther’s shoulders stiffened in surprise but he nodded before realizing that she couldn’t see it. “Oh, I mean, yes, of course,” he stammered. He still hadn’t actually done it, so Diego rolled his eyes and reached for the knob, raising the volume. He turned to look at Vanya and asked, “Is this good?”

Vanya closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes, thank you.”

The station had moved on from classic rock to something that sounded more contemporary. It had soft guitar and melancholy vocals, and Vanya’s face relaxed for the first time since her rescue.

“ _Did I want love? Did I need to know? Why does it always feel like I’m caught in an undertow?_ ”

Diego watched the gradually lightening sky through the gaps between the buildings they passed, listening to the chorus of strings that joined the song. He let out a slow breath and rested his head against the cool glass of the window. They’d be arriving home soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i considered splitting this chapter up but there was no place that felt right. i spent a lot of time on this and i'm tentatively satisfied with it, and i would really love people's feedback on it! thank you so much for reading! the next chapter is partially written but i'm not sure when it will be up.
> 
> for anyone curious, the song playing at the end is the world at large by modest mouse. i swear i'm not trying to emulate 2000s song fic culture, i just genuinely thought music would be a good way to end the scene lol
> 
> edit: i always forget half the stuff i want to put in the notes. anyway for anyone who hasn't read the comics, dr. terminal and perseus are two villains from them. hotel oblivion is the hellish nightmare prison where reginald sends all the people the academy defeats. i have no idea if they'll actually have it in the show, but i needed to put these bastards SOMEWHERE, so yeah


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "compromise is made out of peace  
> but history's made out of violence  
> after the war of the worlds has ceased  
> all that's left is the deafening silence"  
> \- sturgill simpson, sing along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if you wanted to go to heaven but god said "remember all that reginald dialogue you wrote"
> 
> also: taking this off anon bc i've worked hard on it and it's not like it's any darker than the actual show itself
> 
> also also: small tw for unintentional self harm

The sun was just climbing over the horizon by the time they walked through the mansion’s front door. There was no point in sneaking back in. Luther was once again carrying Vanya; she had fallen into a light sleep during the rest of the drive, but had woken back up when he’d lifted her out of the car.

Dad, Mom, and Pogo were waiting for them in the foyer. It wasn’t like Diego hadn’t been expecting it, but Dad’s furious expression sent a jolt of anxiety up his spine anyway.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dad barked. Pogo ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with the teens.

Luther opened his mouth but Dad raised his hand up, palm out, before he could say anything. “Do not answer that. If direct orders are too complex for you all to understand, then I was a fool for assuming you could handle a rhetorical question.” Luther shut his mouth so fast he was in danger of biting off his tongue. “I was already at the end of my patience with you and your insolence after yesterday’s events, so imagine my utter shock when Grace awoke me with the news that all five of my children were not only not in their rooms – an impermissible transgression in and of itself – but not within the grounds of the manor at all.”

“Six,” Allison muttered. Diego winced and Ben tried to stop her with a minute headshake, but Dad narrowed his eyes.

“Excuse me, Number Three?”

She looked scared for a split second but then steeled herself. “Six children. All _six_ of your children were gone, because Vanya was kidnapped. That’s the whole point.”

Dad’s jaw clenched in rage. “You are digging your own grave, Number Three. Your personal training time will be doubled this week. If anyone else would like to give voice to their own objections, do so now and I will assign a fitting punishment.” He waited a moment. No one said anything. “Very well. There are not enough hours in the day for me to express the full depth of my shame and outrage. How can the Umbrella Academy ever function, how can it ever establish itself as a legitimate force for justice, if its members are unable to follow even the simplest and easiest of commands? I have done everything in my power to mold you into the best versions of yourselves, and yet you still insist on acting like immature schoolyard brats. The fact that I am disappointed at all reflects poorly on my own judgement: for one to be disappointed, one must have expectations. I should have known better than to have set such high expectations for my incompetent children.”

Between the exhaustion and their father’s tirade, Diego and his siblings were a mess. Luther was the only one not curled in on himself, and that was only because he was holding Vanya. Vanya herself was doing her best to stay as still as possible, as if Dad might not notice her if she didn’t move. The rage had faded from Allison’s face and now she just looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here, Diego could tell Ben was biting the inside of his cheek, and Klaus looked like he had completely checked out of reality. Diego was so tired he wanted to cry. Every noise was so loud, there was a weird lag between when events around him happened and when his mind processed them, and he could handle this lecture, really, he could deal with being yelled at and berated but only if Dad would just let them sleep first.

And fucking hell, Vanya was in obvious need of medical attention. They didn’t have the time to stand around and get shit on. Diego glanced at her again, covered in blood and shaking in Luther’s arms despite her best efforts.

Dad had to pause to catch his breath, and Luther took the opportunity to take a hesitant half-step forward. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

If looks could kill then Luther would be sprawled on the floor, but Dad gave a single nod.

Luther did his best to put on the face he wore when giving Dad mission reports, but Diego could see the nervousness around his eyes. “May I take Number Seven to the infirmary? She has sustained heavy injuries.” His voice faltered almost imperceptibly before saying Vanya’s number; he must have decided that referring to her by her name wasn’t wise while Dad was so volatile.

Dad slowly fixed his gaze on Vanya like a hunter taking aim at a deer. “Ah yes…Number Seven. The ultimate insult to this injury. Not only did you betray me, but _she_ was your motivation.” He spat the words like the very notion disgusted him. Vanya curled further into Luther’s chest. “Let me make myself very clear. The Umbrella Academy exists to conduct missions of importance. Number Seven is not a dignitary; she is not a politician; she is not a hostage at a reputable establishment under siege. And before you start spewing your sentimental banalities at me, no, she is not a member of the Academy, nor is she your sister. She is nothing but a mistake among miracles, an utter failure of nature that I had yet to realize on the day of your birth, or I would have most certainly left her to languish in the tenement in which I found her. She was not kidnapped as a hostage, she was stolen in the same way a common robber might steal a bauble that appears valuable at first glance, but upon closer inspection is worthless. To send the full force of the Umbrella Academy after her would be akin to shooting a fly with a cannon; conventional means of retrieval would have more than sufficed.”

Vanya had appeared fairly attentive since walking in, but by the time Dad finished with his rant her eyes had glazed over, leaving her looking as far away as Klaus did. All of the siblings shrunk back, and though some glared, some looked scared, and some looked like they were on another plane of reality entirely, none of them spoke.

Diego was too tired to feel angry. He was just done. He was done with Reginald and his bullshit, he was done with the fucking Academy, he was done being under the thumb of a man who didn’t give a single shit about what happened to them. He was on the verge of saying _fuck it_ and taking Vanya up to the infirmary himself when Mom stepped forward, her hand ghosting over Dad’s shoulder. She’d looked upset throughout the entire ordeal, but not at them – _for_ them. It was because of the moments like these that Diego knew she had transcended whatever programming Dad had written and become her own person. He never would have coded a machine with the ability to interrupt him.

“Sir, let me take Vanya to the infirmary. I believe the children understand your displeasure, but they’re exhausted and need to rest.” Her polite tone negated any possible reading of insubordination in her words.

He huffed. “Very well. You may tend to Number Seven, but if any situation should arise in which there is need of your medical expertise, it will take precedence over her and you will come handle it at once. As for the rest of them,” he turned to the teens, “their exhaustion is a direct result of their unauthorized excursion, and therefore they must accept responsibility for it. Breakfast will be held in half an hour as usual and you will all be present, no exceptions. Number Seven!” She jerked in Luther’s arms, snapping back to reality and looking at their father. Her left eye was still swollen half-shut. “Can you walk?”

She shook her head; Dad’s eyes narrowed, and she must have remembered that Dad hated nonverbal responses because before he could open his mouth she mumbled, “No, sir, sorry.”

He rolled his eyes. “ _Do_ speak up, child.”

So she did. It was the loudest she had spoken since they’d rescued her, and god her throat sounded _shredded_ , her voice rough and breaking on every word. “No, sir. I can’t. I’m sorry. My foot…”

Her voice trailed off and she weakly gestured at her foot; they all followed her gaze. Diego heard someone gasp. He didn’t know how he had missed it until now, but in the bright light of the foyer he could see that her left foot was _mangled_ , a grotesque mess of ragged flesh and blood that was sluggishly dripping on the tile flooring. He held back a gag – what the hell had they done to it?

Dad’s lips pressed into a line but he waved his hand anyway. “Grace, escort Number One and Number Seven to the infirmary, then send Number One to get ready for breakfast immediately. Tardiness will not be tolerated. Everyone else, go make yourselves presentable. I will not tell you twice.”

Luther followed Grace to the infirmary while the rest of them trudged toward their rooms. So that was that, huh? They had taken charge, they had done their jobs as superheroes, they had _saved_ Vanya’s _life_ , and they were punished for it. Whatever, whatever, what-fucking-ever, Diego just had to make it through this day and the next and the next and the next and the next and then he’d get out of here and be the best damn hero this world had ever seen, and Dad would realize just how wrong he always was. He would be a hero and Allison would finally go to Hollywood, and Ben would write book reviews for pretentious magazines, and Klaus would do whatever weird thing Klaus wanted to do, probably start a cult or some shit, and Vanya would travel around the world playing her violin in orchestras, and Luther would – well. Maybe Luther could be an astronaut, yeah, that would work, a normal astronaut for a normal program without any ties to Dad’s moon research bullshit.

Diego had to hold onto fantasies like this, he had to, or living here would drive him insane.

Maybe if he focused on this one hard enough he’d even be able to stay awake during breakfast.

*

Mom told Vanya that she’d passed out the moment Luther laid her on the bed.

She said it lightly, airily. Like it was endearing. A moment of levity. Her voice lost that cheeriness when Vanya asked what her injuries were.

Two ribs broken, three more cracked. The broken nose was minor enough to heal on its own, and Mom had gone ahead and bandaged all the lacerations on her face and body. Cleaned off all the blood, too, and changed her into fresh pajamas. She had disinfected and re-bandaged the burn, though she made sure to compliment Ben’s handiwork. Bruises on her face, her torso, her back, her shoulders, her legs – bruises pretty much everywhere. There was petroleum jelly slathered on her wrists to treat the chafing; Vanya thought the sensation was weird and gross, but she supposed it was better than the alternative. Her foot was encased in a heavy medical boot to treat the metatarsal fracture and was slightly elevated. Mom had chosen a boot over a cast because they would need to be able to remove it to check on the progress of the ripped-up skin, but she should keep the boot on for the majority of the time, including while she slept. She most likely had a concussion and that’s why Mom had woken her up, but after shining a light in her eyes she determined it was safe for Vanya to sleep.

There was an IV line in her right arm. A solution for dehydration, Mom said. Her captors hadn’t given her any water. Mom handed her a pill, a different one from her anxiety meds, and said it was a fast acting pain reliever – Vanya took it before Mom could finish the sentence. Luther had apparently told Mom that they’d already given Vanya one of her pills, and she was very proud of them for remembering. She could get Vanya an ice pack for her eye if she wanted. Vanya shrugged, knowing she was going to give it to her anyway. Mom smiled that bright smile and shuffled away to prepare it.

So it was over. She was home, and it was over. It was over, it was over, it was over, it was over, she was at home with Mom and her siblings and Pogo and even Dad and it was over. She should be happy. She should be ecstatic, she should be over the moon. And she was happy! Really, she was, she was so happy that she was out of there and back home that she could cry, and she would be fiercely grateful to her siblings for the rest of her life, but –

But.

But it didn’t feel over, did it?

She couldn’t stop thinking about Palmer and Clark and Haverford. What were they doing? Right now, in this very moment, what were they up to? Probably nothing, considering they had been left tied up in a basement. When Klaus had asked her if she really didn’t want to hurt them, she had felt so sure in saying no. It had felt so…noble. Like something a Good Person would do. A hero.

She heard a distant thumping sound coming from somewhere but ignored it, too lost in her thoughts. She had told her siblings not to hurt her captors because it had made her feel like the bigger person, but she wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Why should they get off the hook so easily? Hadn’t she herself been ready to kill Palmer with the fire poker way back in the beginning? And that was before they had beat her half to death.

The noise was getting louder but she still paid it no mind. She shouldn’t have played by some pretentious code of morality that apparently no one in the real world followed. Her captors certainly had shown no interest in following it themselves. She should have let her siblings hurt them, maybe even kill them – for the first time in her life she had had the opportunity to punish someone for hurting her and she hadn’t accepted it because she was too fucking pathetic and now they were going to just keep living their lives and they were going to forget about this whole thing and meanwhile she never would, she never fucking would –

“Vanya, sweetie,” Mom said urgently, and the world snapped back into focus as Vanya jolted out of whatever weird trance she had been in. She rushed to Vanya’s side, her eyebrows knit together in concern. “Don’t do that.”

Don’t do – _huh_? What had she been – oh. The thumping noise had been the sound of her banging the side of her head against the bed’s guardrail. Mom reached out and placed her hand against Vanya’s temple, stilling her movements and creating a barrier between her and the bar. It was incredible how realistic Mom’s synthetic skin was, truly a feat of engineering. Warm, soft, not dry but not clammy. It was indistinguishable from the real thing, but sometimes Vanya swore she could feel the metal beneath.

Vanya hadn’t even realized she’d been doing it, but now that Mom had pointed it out she could feel an ache enveloping her skull that emanated from where her head had met the rail. _That was stupid. Didn’t you already have enough head trauma to deal with?_ “Oh. Sorry, Mom,” she muttered awkwardly.

Mom smiled. It looked strained. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, silly! But don’t hit your head, you’re trying to heal! Now here’s that ice pack I promised you, it will help with the swelling around your eye.”

Vanya accepted it with a barely-audible “Thanks,” her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She really hadn’t been doing it on purpose. Mom lowered the top half of the bed to a horizontal position so that Vanya could lie flat and let gravity hold the pack over her eye instead of her weak arms.

She did so, blinking her right eye at the sudden loss of depth perception. The pain was beginning to gently fade, her body growing more and more numb – Mom hadn’t been lying when she said the painkiller was fast acting. She stifled an oncoming yawn; to let it happen would aggravate her ribs and the bruises on her face. “Is it okay if I go to sleep?” she mumbled, looking at one of the posters at the wall instead of at Mom.

“Of course, sweetie. Rest will help you feel better.” She smoothed back Vanya’s hair and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “There’s a button on the table beside you, if you need anything at all just press it and I’ll come as quickly as I can.” Vanya glanced at Mom’s face. She was smiling. “I love you, Vanya.”

She pulled the blanket up a little higher. “Love you too, Mom.”

A question burned at the back of her throat – she finally worked up the nerve to ask it when Mom’s hand touched the doorknob. “Mom?”

She stilled, turning back to look at her, a look of benign curiosity on her face. “Yes, dear?”

Vanya’s eyes drifted away again, looking down at the tile floor beneath Mom’s feet. She curled her left hand into the blanket. “Are, um…do you think the others will stop by? At some point? Just, you know, just wondering.”

“I don’t think they’ll be able to today.” Her voice sounded apologetic, and Vanya looked up at her again. But then Mom’s face brightened, her smile too wide, her eyes too empty, and Vanya knew she was going to say something about Dad; she never looked more artificial than when she was talking about Reginald Hargreeves. “Your father is keeping them busy busy busy with training! They have to be in tip-top shape for missions. People’s lives are at stake!” Then her features softened, life returning to her eyes. “Sleep well, Vanya,” she said gently before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Vanya sighed, looking up at the off-white ceiling. The only sound was the hypnotic repetition of the saline drip. She was getting woozy from the painkiller, her mind running together in weird looping thoughts.

_Tip-top shape for missions. People’s lives are at stake. Missions are for saving people. You weren’t a mission. Number Seven is not a dignitary she is not a politician she is not a hostage she is not your teammate she is not your sister. Missions are for people and Seven isn’t a person. Seven isn’t a person she isn’t a kid she’s a bauble a bauble who the fuck says bauble. She is a mistake, a mistake among mistakes, she should be alone and forgotten in some tenement in Russia instead of alone and forgotten in this mansion, she is the fly and the Umbrella Academy is the shot heard ‘round the world._

She groaned, gritting her teeth. This was just working her up more, making her feel all jittery and sick. She tried to think about something else, anything else.

_We missed you. We’re sorry we took so long. It’s good to have you back, it’ll be okay, we love you._

_We missed you. We love you._

_We love you, Vanya._

Her breathing evened out, that persistent lump in her throat finally letting up. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she finally dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be fluffy and sweet i swear to GOD
> 
> also, next chapter should be the last one. thank you all very much for reading, i really appreciate your comments! they're keeping me going


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